


The Four Date Rule

by TheViperQueen



Series: Spikes and Sparks [1]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: (kinda), -evil cackling-, -shoves faces together- NOW KISS!, Eventual Sexual Content, F/M, Horatio lives, I feel like I need to add an extra relationship tag, More characters to be added, Netflix and Chill, Rating will go up, Shit's Getting Real, Slow Burn, TWRP concerts, also i watch too much TV, also in case you were wondering he totally fapped lmao, because fuck that other noise, dem plot twists thoooooo, like OFC/Wrench using straws lmao, like it's taking over my life and my writing, mask envy, shit’s about to go down, these dorks are precious and i will kill for them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2018-09-11 11:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8977012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheViperQueen/pseuds/TheViperQueen
Summary: “I kinda have this... four date rule.”“Isn’t that usually a girl thing? Never heard of a guy doing it.”“Yeah, well, most guys don’t walk around with an LED display and spikes for a face either.” Ya know, just your classic boy meets girl and somehow manages to fall in love deep like amongst federal crimes, binge watching, and concerts. And fires. Lots and lots of fires.





	1. The Wrench and the Girl or Modern Classics on Chilly Rooftops

_This is a questionable decision_ , your brain says as you let the tattooed man lead you up a set of metal stairs to the factory’s roof. _Aren’t we afraid of heights? If we’re not now’s a good time to reconsider that stance. We’re up hella high. One wrong move and **SPLAT**! You’ll be reduced to little more than tomorrow’s viral news story. _ When he puts down a blanket to give you a cleaner option for seating the organ goes into overdrive. _You barely know this guy and you’re letting him take you on a roof. What if he’s nuts? Did you even consider that? Or what if he wants more than what you’re willing to give? Great, you’ve got us up on the roof of a factory with a potential psycho and you can’t even blame it on being drunk._

While it’s true that the beers your friends had forced into your hands were enough to get you nicely buzzed you aren’t even close to being drunk. However, buzzed-you is much more sociable than sober-you so when a man in a mask had come over to the corner that you’d claimed as your own and asked you if you cared to dance –well you could hardly say no, could you? The thumping beat of the electronic music was enough to get your hips swaying in time and the man attached to said hips moved with you. At some point during your grinding session you found out he liked to call himself ‘The Wrench’ ( _“But for you babe it’s just Wrench.”_ ) and that he was a member of the local DedSec collective. The latter discovery wasn’t a surprise to you; this was a DedSec event after all. The only reason you’d even been able to get in was because one of your friends ‘knew a girl who knows a guy’ and even with that connection you all still had to go through a gauntlet of clues and trials to even find the place. You hadn’t thought that the party had been worth all the trouble, but after meeting Wrench…

The pair of you danced for what you assumed to be at least two more songs (between having your attention divided by the man at your back and the wordless tunes it was hard for you to tell) before grabbing another round of beers and trying to find somewhere quiet-ish to talk. The only problem with that was that when you throw a party in an abandoned warehouse it’s impossible to find anything even resembling quiet in the building. The sounds of music and revelers echoed throughout every room making conversations with any real substance impossible, something that Wrench found unacceptable. When he held out his hand and asked if you trusted him you found yourself saying yes; whether you did so because people who make references to _Aladdin_ can’t be overly sinister or because you were possibly drunker than you realized you still aren’t sure. Hand-in-hand you wove through the party, stopping only long enough to tell your friends that you were going with him. You didn’t have a set destination, but between the tracking chips in your phone and the necklace that your cousin had given you for your last birthday you were sure that at the very least your friends would be able to track you down. _Let’s just hope they’re not looking for a corpse._ The thought comes to you in the form of Shemar Moore/Derek Morgan’s voice and you think that _maybe_ you’ve been watching too much _Criminal Minds_. When Wrench leads you out to the mess of parked cars you know that you’ve binged one too many episodes because all you can think about is him knocking you out, tossing you into the trunk, and whisking you away to some freaky sex dungeon –the kind homeboy had in _Gotham_ , not the _Fifty Shades_ variety. Of course none of that happens; Wrench only stops at one of the nicer cars in the bunch, hands you his beer, and grabs an armful of blankets from the trunk before motioning for you to follow him once more.

And that’s how you end up here, on the roof of the old building wrapped up in one of the softest blankets ever staring out into inky waves. The bricks that surround the derelict venting unit at your back leave you chillier than the night wind that occasionally brushes over your face and you find yourself moving closer to your one source of heat. If Wrench notices he doesn’t mind; unlike you he’s foregone the blanket, choosing instead to pull down the sleeves of his hoodie. The green bottle in his hand is all but forgotten as he animatedly swings it to and fro during his retelling of an anecdote concerning his friend Marcus and the _CyberDriver_ car.

“And then-” he almost chokes on his laughter as his free hand slaps at his thigh, “-then he says ‘I’m swarthier than any motherfucker name von Devon, that’s for _damn_ sure.’ So at this point he totally thinks that the car is racist and he’s actually _arguing_ with it! Like legit arguing. I thought he was going to get out and fist fight it. I started to have it say something about his mom, but Ratio told me that’d probably end with Marcus punching my dick off.”

“It probably would have,” you agree around your own laughter. Once things calm down a bit you give him an appraising look. “The things you’ve guys have done… It’s amazing, but dangerous. You’ve got to be on top of at least a dozen watch lists-”

“‘A dozen’?” he snorts. “Try doubling that for the others and tripling it for me.”

“But that’s my point. How do you-” you pause, looking for the right words. “Function?” you finally settle on. “Like it has to be dangerous, right? How do you go about your day-to-day without worrying about, well _everything_? How can you even throw parties like this? Aren’t you afraid that it’ll attract some type of unwanted attention?” The questions are far heavier than what is appropriate for the situation, but buzzed-you is also overly curious and rarely settles down until said curiosity is sated.

Two equal signs pop up on Wrench’s mask and you have to assume that that’s his way of squinting at you. “You know, most people ask about the mask or the tats, but you go right for the throat.”

“I’m assuming that LEDs, a camera, and some other techy stuff that I won’t fully understand goes into the mask and as for the tattoos I didn’t even notice you had them until we got outside. Now, do you have an answer for me or nah?” You give him what you hope is a charming smile in an attempt to sway him.

The display flicks back to neutral X’s as he chuckles. “She’s direct. I like that.” He crosses his legs as he leans back against the wall behind you. “I can’t speak for anyone else, but… the whole ‘danger’ aspect of this life doesn’t bother me. And honestly as far as criminal activity goes it’s not even that dangerous. We do most of our work behind the safety of a screen.” His words are more of a lament than anything and it leaves you wondering just how seriously he takes the distinctive ‘A’ that adorns his throat. “The only way any traces of you will be left behind for anyone to find is if you’re sloppy and unless you pull an Aiden Pearce people will probably never even know what you look like. And when things slip the net, well we’ve got ways of dealing with that.” His pitch drops on his last sentence and he flashes you his version of a wink.

“I’m guessing I don’t want to know the specifics of these ‘ways’ that you speak of.”

“Yeah, it’s probably best not to look too deep into it.”

His reply is casual bordering on playful, but you decide to leave well enough alone –on that matter at least. “And what about this party? Since I’ve been here I’ve met at least ten DedSec ‘members’.”

“Lemme guess. All dudes?”

You smirk at him. “There was one girl.” Two big O’s flash at you making you laugh. “She was cute, but not my type.”

“ _Oh_?” He makes a big show of moving closer pulling a giggle from you. “And what exactly is your type?”

A tilde and a minus alternate on the spaces of his mask making you squint in confusion. “Are you… Is that you trying to waggle your eyebrows at me?”

Two chevrons pointed in at each other appear then. “If you have to ask…” He laughs. “Haven’t had much chance to use that one. And by that I mean ‘never had a reason to’. Probably should’ve run it by the group before trying it out on you.” Whatever hides behind the spiked bandana isn’t enough to filter out the embarrassment in his voice.

“Nah, it’s cool,” you say, a hand going to pat his arm to reassure him further. “I mean I knew what you were going for so it works, right?”

“If you’re willing to go with it I’m sure as shit not going to stop you.”

You both laugh a bit at that before going quiet. You can practically feel his eyes raking over every inch of your face and irritation at not being able to do the same starts to bubble up. “If we were in some cheesy rom-com this would be the part where I start to lean in and you meet me halfway and then we kiss but that damned mask is in the way.” It’s only when said mask starts to display a series of emotes flicking by way too fast for your eyes to latch on to that you realize you’ve given voice to your thoughts.

“Well shit.” He breathes out a laugh as the mask finally settles back to neutral. “If I’d known that was an option…”

That earns him a side eye. “Oh come on Wrench. You don’t bring a girl up on the roof without at least _hoping_ to get a kiss.”

“I know you probably can’t tell," sarcasm there, "but I’m… not really the best at this,” he confesses. When two U’s appear you’re not sure if he’s doing it for your benefit or his. “My mask usually gets one of two responses from chicks: fear or interest. And with those two reactions always come with motives. If she's freaked, well that’s pretty straight forward. She'll usually say something like ‘get the fuck away from me’ and I fuck the fuck off and boom!” he flicks all of his fingers out in an imitation of an explosion before letting his hands drop again. “Interaction done. If they’re interested, well it’s rarely a friendly interest. That usually ends with a reenactment of my short high school career.” The snort he gives speaks of some bemused memory that he doesn’t seem keen on sharing.

“But when it is friendly,” he continues, “it’s usually just that, _friendly_. They want to know how it’s made and how it works and next thing you know four months have passed and I’m repairing laptops from deep, _deep_ within the friend zone.” He shrugs then, X’s back in place. “But you… you’re different. When I came over you looked surprised, but you barely even noticed the mask. And all while we were dancing I knew that I had to get to know the girl that was nice enough to let me grind my crotch against her back.”

That startles a laugh out of you. “I guess that’s the most… _accurate_ way to put it.”

“It’s also the nicest.” He flashes you a quick wink before speaking again. “The point I’m trying to make is, shit like this? It doesn’t happen to me. It just doesn’t. Even before I put on the mask it didn’t, but at least with it on…”

As he struggles to find the words he needs your brain supplies some of their own and they’re out of your mouth before you can think better of it. “So what you’re saying is they didn’t care who you were until you put the mask on?” Okay, so you _may_ actually be bit drunker than you realize.

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “‘I guess that’s the most accurate way to put it,’” he parrots back at you.

“‘It’s also the nicest,’” you say, following suit.

“I don’t think that works as well here.”

“It probably doesn’t,” you agree. “But I’m slightly drunk so there’s also that.”

“Is that why you wanted to kiss me?” He tries to keep his tone light, but you can tell that he’s looking for a real answer.

“No,” you pour every ounce of sincerity within you into the word as you place a hand on his arm again, “that’s not why. It’s the reason I said that out loud, but- I wanted to kiss you because you seem sweet and funny and we were totally having a movie-worthy moment, kinda like we are now, but there’s still that whole situation.” You pout a little as your eyes give his mask a once over. “That thing looks awesome, but the whole ‘blocking your lips from easy access’ bit is a real mood killer.”

Two question marks stare back at you as he cocks his head to the side. “You really want to kiss me, huh?”

You give him a look. “Would be nice.”

“Fuck.” The curse is said so low that you’re not sure if you're meant to hear it. Fingers disappear into his hood as he brushes back rogue hair with a sigh. “I kinda have this... four date rule.”

Two chevrons appear again only this time he seems to be giving you the side eye. Or maybe he’s measuring your reaction? You’re not entirely sure what he’s expecting, but buzzed-you is still at the helm so undivided honesty it is. “Isn’t that usually a girl thing? Never heard of a guy doing it.”

“Yeah, well, most guys don’t walk around with an LED display and spikes for a face either.” His tone is slightly self-depreciating, but before you can say anything he’s moving on. “It wasn’t always a thing for me, but then there was this thing with this girl at a diner and… Well let’s just say I won’t be whipping off my mask for every pretty thing that decides to toss a smile my way.”

You’re not sure what Diner Girl did to make him so wary, but you can respect his need to protect his emotions. Even so, “You’re really going to make me work for this, huh?” asked with a cocked brow.

He sighs then, hands coming up to link behind his head. “What can I say? Baby I’m worth it.”

That has the other brow to coming up to join the first. “Did you actually just quote Fifth Harmony?”

“If I said ‘yes’ would that increase my odds of getting a date?”

“Exponentially.”

“Then yes, yes I did.” He laughs a bit as he turns to face you more fully. “If it’ll seal the deal I can bust out some T-Swift for you, maybe a little Al Green. Or if neither of those are your style I can always serenade you with the dulcet tones of Bobo Dakes.”

You sputter a laugh at that. “ _Bobo Dakes_? Really? I’m pretty sure he’s never written a love song. Like ever.”

“Hey, ‘Love Ya Right’ is a modern classic, I’ll have you know. ‘ _Hittin’ it from the back, pullin’ ya hair. You’re my queen, I’ll make ya scream before I cream…_ ’”

Between your buzz and the loving way he delivers the obscene words you’re in hysterics by the verse’s end. You paw at his arm trying to get him to stop when he starts in on the chorus. “Can’t breathe. _Can’t breathe!_ ” you manage.

He chuckles as he rubs at your back in an attempt to help you calm down. “And there’s more where that came from, _if_ you agree to a date.” Question marks shift hazily in your still watery vision when you look at him. “What do you say?”

“Of course, I’d love to.” Your reply comes without any hesitation. Anyone who can make you laugh this hard over lyrics that would usually leave you cringing deserves at least that much.

“Excellent,” he says, fingers steepled as he attempts to mimic Mr. Burns. As an afterthought, “You know, I think I may watch too much TV.”

You shake your head hard. “No such thing. Hulu is love, Hulu is life. I’d give my left tit to find a way to make money off of binging shows in my underwear.”

Emote hearts blink back at you as Wrench places a hand over his chest. “Be still my spike-covered heart. Where have you been all of my life, woman?”

You roll your eyes as you playfully nudge at his shoulder with your own. “Focus on the now, Wrench. You’ve got a date to plan.”


	2. “Who the fuck is Daryl?” or Grabbing the Mace and Following That Bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They've started in on drunk karaoke here in my house and since I have no desire to listen to my uncle slur out the lyrics to "Can't Feel My Face" you guys get a chapter! (And on that note I want to wish you all a merry holiday of your choosing! May it be full of all the good things this season has to offer and minimal bullshit.)

When you finally leave the roof hours later Wrench still hasn’t come up with an idea for a date that he deems worthy. Things that people would typically do on a date are too mundane for him, but he promises to call you sometime during the following day with _“a date idea so fucking epic we just might end up in jail before it's over.”_

You’re not entirely sure how serious he is about the last bit, but you figure the chances of actually ending up incarcerated are slim.  
Hopefully.

On the ride back home you call shotgun, though the other two don’t seem to mind. Veronica is going on with the type of enthusiasm that only someone drunk off their ass can muster about the girl she met ( _“She’s the one guys. I swear it.”_) while Dre listens to her story with all the intensity that his high will allow (which given the fact that he hasn’t blinked yet would seem to be a whole hell of a lot). Being the designated driver means that Kalie is stone sober, but she seems just as happy as the rest, if not more so. As the pair in the back continue to chatter you can feel her eyes occasionally darting over at you. “Everything okay, ____?” she asks when you don’t respond to her subtlety.

You lean more fully against the car’s window. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

“No reason I guess. You’re just being really quiet.”

“I’m just tired. It’s o-dark-thirty and I’ve been up since the asscrack of dawn,” you remind her. The little yawn that follows your words lends them credibility.

She laughs then. “Fair enough. Did you at least enjoy the party?”

“Yeah.” Your response is a little too quick, a little too jovial to play off as being casual especially since you hadn’t wanted to go out in the first place. _Fuckity fuck fuck._ You catch the Cheshire smile that’s splitting your friends face out of the corner of your eye and the mental cursing starts up once more.

“You met a guy, didn’t you?” Straight for the jugular, in classic Kalie style. “How come nobody told me?” this is directed to the pair in the back.

“Told you what?” Dre asks.

“That our girl here met a guy.”

“Oh  _shit_. Right. Yes,” that’s Veronica. “Fuck, I was supposed to text you to make sure you were okay? You were okay, right babe? Like the masked wonder didn’t get fresh with you, did he?”

“‘Get fresh’?” You can’t help but laugh at that. “What decade do you think you’re living in, Ronnie?”

At the same moment Kalie snaps her head over to you. Slightly narrowed eyes stay on you longer than what you think is safe as she asks, “What’s this dude’s name?”

Sheepishness takes hold of you then, but you’re not exactly sure why. “Well I have no idea what his government name is, but he likes to call himself ‘Wrench’.”

Wide eyes snap to you yet again before going back to the road. “‘Wrench’? As in _The Wrench_?”

“I guess? I doubt that there’s more than one person calling themselves that running around the city.”

“Oh my God,” she says before you can even finish your sentence. “That is as awesome as it is terrifying.”

“‘Terrifying’?” Confusion has you squinting while just a touch of unease has your stomach on edge (or maybe it’s the abundance of beer and lack of food). “Why is it terrifying?”

“I don’t know much about the man, but… Let’s just say the word is he’s not above getting his hands dirty.” All said in a level voice while keeping her eyes pointedly on the road.

“So what are you trying to say, K? He’s killed people or some shit?” The laugh that leaves you is unbelieving, but weak as worry sets in fully.

“Well, no,” she admits. “But honestly? Wouldn’t put it past him. Guy’s a fixer and he’s got a rep of being a loose cannon. And that’s putting it mildly.”

“‘Loose cannon’, ‘get fresh’. Did you make a rule that says we can only use old ass clichéd phrases?” The joke is as much to lighten the mood as it is to calm your rapidly fraying nerves. Could it be that the guy you’d laughed and talked with not even a half an hour ago is capable of violence to such a degree as to be labeled a threat?

“… _we’ve got ways of dealing with that._ ”

Remembering his words instantly sends your mind into overdrive. _He has my number, he can find me. But he’s a hacker for DedSec so he could probably do that anyway. But he wouldn’t hurt me, right? There’s no reason to. Unless I become a threat. But how could I be a threat? A liability, maybe, but a threat? But a liability is just as bad, isn’t it? Fuck, fuck, fuck._

“Look, I’m probably overstating things,” Kalie starts, unaware of you internal meltdown, “but you’re my girl and I want you to be aware of what you’re getting into.”

“Anybody else want to weigh in on this?” you ask, suddenly more tired than you’ve ever been.

“Normally I’d say follow your heart, but…” Ronnie sighs long and loud. “Eh, fuck it. Grab a can of Mace and follow that bitch.”

When Dre’s draggy voice comes from behind you you’re surprised to find that he actually kept up with the exchange. “I vote for staying the fuck away. Dude sounds like bad news,” he says, continuing the theme of antiquated terminology. “I also vote for stopping at In-N-Out, I’m hungry as shit.”  
  


**-x-x-x-**

  
  
When Kalie pulls up outside of your building you’re still unsure of how you feel about the whole Wrench situation. You just can’t seem to bridge the gap between the guy on the roof and the ‘fixer’. And thanks to _Criminal Minds_ you know _exactly_ what a fixer is. A chorus of muffled ‘goodbyes’ (since Denny’s is the only place open at such an ungodly hour Dre has his mouth stuffed full of pancake while a rapidly encroaching hangover has Ronnie’s head buried in her lap) come from the back seat. You respond in kind as you undo your seatbelt. When Kalie asks you if you’re okay you just shrug before saying goodnight to her as well.

Begging off dealing with the situation that you feel has been thrust upon you because you are _too tired for this shit, dammit_ you strip down to your panties and pull on your comfiest pajamas. You flop down onto your bed, startling the stray that you’d taken in months ago awake. “Daryl, don’t quit your day job of being adorable because you are literally the worst guard dog ever and holy fuck I watch too much TV.” The day that you had taken him in had been shitty and all you wanted to do was curl up on the couch and binge _The Walking Dead_. After giving him a warm bath and a good meal you’d done just that. A few episodes in you began to notice that every time someone said his human counterpart’s name his tail would get to wagging wildly and thus the legend that is doggie Daryl Dixon was born.

For his part the mutt licks at your hand before curling up into your side. You can feel him drifting of as you rub a gentle hand over his soft fur and you find yourself envying how easily he can just shut off his mind and fall back to sleep. “Show off,” you mutter fondly as little doggie snores start to fill the room. You rise slowly so as not to wake him before heading over to your desk. Since it’s obvious that you won’t get any rest until you make up your mind about Wrench you decide to do a little snooping. You power up your laptop and open up Nudle Search. Given what he is you don’t expect to find much about him, but you’re hoping that your attempts will at least quell your mind enough for you to get some sleep.

Your first search of ‘Wrench’ offers up a bunch of, you guessed it, wrenches. Pictures, a wiki, and links to stores are followed by definitions as well as a few guides explaining which wrench works best for what. Resisting the urge to punch yourself in the face for the brief moment of stupidity you next try ‘The Wrench’. The results are much the same though a few websites that you’re pretty sure are completely unrelated –and in one case probably full of freaky porn and viruses of all sorts- pop up. Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you click your tongue a few times. “Okaaay… Let’s try… ‘The Wrench, hacker’.” You drag out the last few words as you type them and the moment you hit the enter key your entire screen goes black. “ _What the shit!_ ” you hiss, shaken by the sight. You start to tap at the power button, but before you can the display pops back on. The words _‘NOT TODAY MOTHERFUCKER’_ flash a few times before neon colored hands flipping you the bird start to fill up the screen. You recognize the art style and it at once comforts and scares you. “DedSec.” At some point Daryl had risen to see just what has his human so upset; after seeing that you’re okay he yawns, licks the part of you that’s closest to him (it happens to be your elbow in this case), and pads back off to bed. “Daryl, why do I feel like I fucked up?”

 _“That’s probably because you have.”_ At the familiar voice your eyes go wide before slowly sliding down to where you phone lay on the desk beside the laptop. The fact that a shirtless Wrench is staring back at you does little to sooth you. _“Side note, who the fuck is Daryl?”_

“My dog?” You’re not sure why your reply is comes out as a question, but then again you’re also not sure why you’re face-timing with a person that you didn’t even call.

He nods. _“Okay. Well that makes me feel slightly better. Now, care to tell me why the hell you’re Nudling me?”_

Seeing no reason to lie to him you pick up your phone and give him a censored version what Kalie said. “So yeah. I guess my curiosity got the best of me,” you finish sheepishly.

From mask to body language, everything about Wrench is as unreadable as it had been throughout your entire spiel. He cocks his head to the side, taking you in through neutral X’s before speaking. _“I… guess that’s fair. She was just being a good friend. And I can see how that would leave you wanting some answers, but… ____ why didn’t you just ask me?”_

Your mouth moves wordlessly for a moment as you try to come up with a reply. Somehow saying that you didn’t know if you could trust him enough to tell you the truth doesn’t seem like the best idea. “I don’t know? I guess I just wanted to assess the danger myself.”

_“Do you actually think I’m dangerous?”_

“Are you saying that you’re not?”

X’s switch to the side eye. _“Are you avoiding my question by answering it with another question?”_

“Are you not doing the exact same thing right now?”

 _“Are we at an impasse?”_   There’s a pause before you both begin to laugh. _“Look, ____, I know you have no reason to believe me but, if you asked me a question I would tell you the truth.”_

“Really?” you ask, clearly skeptical.

 _“ Really,”_ he assures you with a nod. _“I might not always be able to tell you the whole truth or even a truth that makes you comfortable, but I would never lie to you. Look,”_ he runs a hand through hair that up until this point you hadn’t even noticed. The blondish strands fall back limply over his mask despite his best efforts leaving you with a mental picture of him blowing at the stuff in an attempt to keep it at bay. _“You’re different. I know I told you that already, but you’re different in a way that-”_ he laughs a bit, _“I was going to say in a way that sets you apart from other girls, but that’s just redundant, isn’t it?”_ He shakes his head then. _“What I’m trying to say is, I like you ____. I like you more than I’ve let myself like anyone in a long time. I know we haven’t known each other that long but… I just… I want to see where this goes. And honestly? I’m hoping that it’ll go really fuckin’ far.”_

The cynic in you says that he’s sharing this supposed vulnerability with you to get you to let your guard down, but a bigger part of you knows that that’s just not who Wrench is. You don’t know why you feel like you know this, but what he has shown you has been nothing but sincere. From his off-color jokes ( _“Why’d the monkey fall out of the tree? Because it was dead!”_ ) to his fanatic love for Jimmy Siska flicks ( _“The old ones though. You know, from before he drank the Kool-Aid and started taking shit roles.”_ ) he has been nothing but real with you. You’ve always been cautious with any and all relationships that you cultivate, but… _Time to grab the metaphorical Mace and follow that bitch._

“I hope it does too. Go far I mean. With us. Yes.” Hearing yourself start to ramble you quickly clamp your mouth shut, though giggles start to push their way out as soon as you do.

Two carets flash at you then, the sign of a happy Wrench. _“Good. Now that we’re on the same page-”_

“You can fix my laptop,” you finish for him. “This can be fixed right?” you ask as you briefly turn the camera towards the neon colors that now completely cover the screen.

_“Oh yeah, totally. It’s just a little virus that my buddy Josh cooked up. Normally there’d be a program attached to it that would fry your system after harvesting it but once I saw that it was you I cancelled the kill command. You might be missing a few files, but the machine itself should still be useable.”_

“Are you sure?” you ask, eyeing the hands that are still popping up.

_“Don’t worry, babe. It’s just a simple virus. Well as simple as anything with Josh gets. It’s got some heavy encryption, too heavy for your run-of-the-mill tech, but if you bring it tomorrow I’ll get it all fixed up for you.”_

“I’m holding you to that, Wrench,” you say giving him a pointed look before smiling. “So have you figured out where you’re taking me?”

He nods, carets popping back up. _“Indeed I have.”_

“And?” you ask when the information isn’t immediately forthcoming.

 _“Ah-ah-ah,”_ he says, finger waggling at you. _“It’s a surprise.”_

“What if I told you I don’t like surprises?”

_“Then I’d tell you to put on your big girl panties and deal.”_

You stick your tongue out at him, but that only serves to make you both laugh. “Can I ask you something?” you say once the laughter has died off.

 _“Anything,”_ he says as he makes himself more comfortable on what you assume is his bed.

“You haven’t umm… killed anyone before, right?” You feel stupid for even asking the question, but you need to hear him say the words.

The display on Wrench’s mask goes blank and you worry that you have offended him, or worse yet _found him out_ , but then an X and D pop up as peals of laughter pour out of the man’s throat. _“No, ____, I’ve never killed anyone,”_ he finally manages. _“Not that I would admit to it over a mildly secure channel even if I did.”_

You actually breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay then. Can I- _oh my God Wrench!_ Stop laughing! It wasn’t that funny!” The sorry he gives you sounds anything but, though the yawn that follows behind it is oddly cute despite (or maybe because of) the mechanical sound the mask lends to it. “Okay, it’s sleep time now, but can I ask one more question? And no-” you cut him off before he can make a snarky remark, “it’s not as –whatever the last one was.”

_“Okay, shoot.”_

“What’s your name? Like the one that’s on your birth certificate.”

 _“Un-uh,”_ he says, shaking his head slowly. _“‘Mildly secure channel’, remember? And besides, that’s fourth date material.”_

“As secretive as you are about this stuff are you sure that you’re actually going to trust me by the fourth date?”

_“I think so, yeah,” he says with a confident nod. “But even if I don’t you’ll still need to know what to scream.”_

You’re eyes go wide at the implications. “I’m… not sure what to do with that, to be honest.”

Given the once again completely unlit state of the LEDs neither does he. _“That took it a bit too far, didn’t it? Sorry, I have even less of a filter when I’m tired. You don’t want to cancel, do you?”_

“With an incentive like that how could I?” Though the buzz that you’d been nursing earlier in the night has already started to fade you still choose to blame your reply on it.

 _“Has anyone ever told you that you’re wife material, ____?”_ Asked as the exclamation marks that stare back at you turn into asterisks.

You give him a look even as red tints your cheeks. “ _Goodnight_ , Wrench.”

_“G‘night, Waifu.”_

 

**-x-x-x-**

  
  
“So you’re going to go out with him then?” Ronnie’s hazel eyes are inquiring from where she walks beside you holding Daryl’s leash.

You hum around a mouthful of water. “I am,” you say after you’ve swallowed.

“And you have Mace, right?”

You laugh then. “Don’t think that would help me much. The mask, remember?”

“Right, right. Hmm. Well a good solid kick to the nuts works too. Just make sure you put enough force behind it to keep him down long enough for you to make your getaway.”

“Weren’t you the one that told me to follow my heart?”

“Yes, but I also told you to protect yourself. I’m just offering you more avenues with which to do so.” She takes a sip of her coffee before she asks, “So where’s he taking you anyway?”

“I don’t know,” you admit with a shrug.

“Make him tell you before you get in the car.”

“ _Veronica_ …”

“I’m serious, ____. Kalie’s right. You don’t know anything about this guy-”

“Isn’t that the case with most first dates?” Your voice holds a note of irritation that you don’t care to hide. “Look, whatever Wrench is he isn’t a psychopath that’s going to take me back to a show house and electrocute me for his sexual pleasure.”

The look that Ronnie gives you speaks of a whole new concern. “Okay, lay off the _Criminal Minds_. Seriously.”

“Never!”

The pair of you chat for a few minutes more before you’re finally standing in front of the bookstore where Ronnie works. You say your goodbyes and part, though not before she makes you promise to call her if anything goes wrong. You glance through the windows of the various shops as you continue down the block, admiring the displays and taking note of the sales. Nothing really catches your eye until you glance over at Rosie’s Basket. The cottage themed décor pieces that inhabit every square inch of the place are as cute as they are quaint, but the thing that really gets your attention is the spike-covered humanoid green bean that stands amongst it all. Wrench looks wholly out of place, but he’s too focused on the wall of baskets before him to notice the stares he’s pulling from the other patrons. He laces his fingers together and braces them on the black beanie that covers his hair as he looks at the products further up. He’s traded in last night’s hoodie for a fitted black sweater, but the vest remains the same much to your amusement. You feel as if you’re invading his privacy somehow –not to mention spoiling his surprise- but his little hacking stunt leaves you feeling vindicated, if only just.

After a few long seconds he finally settles on a sea foam picnic basket. He disappears from your sight and when he reemerges by the counter he’s got a box whose contents you can’t identify and a blanket. As he waits to pay you wonder if you should move on or wait for him. Leaving so as not to let him know his surprise has been found out seems like the polite thing to do. Unfortunately for him you’re not feeling very polite today. You move to stand by the tree that sits in front of the store and face the street hoping that this is enough to keep him from recognizing you instantly. Daryl comes to sit on your feet once you’ve stopped moving, a weird habit that he developed not long after you took him in. A few long minutes pass before you hear the tinkling sounds of the door behind you opening. The rich scent of wood mixed with something sweet hits you making you wonder how all stores like this manage to smell so similar.

“Thanks Monica, I will!” you hear Wrench call out to someone inside. “And send my regards to Rosie. Ya know, if she actually exists.”

“You know,” you start as you wiggle your feet, a sign to your dog that it’s time to move, “if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were planning for a picnic.”

Though his mask keeps its X’s he’s clearly taken aback. He tries to hide the sunshine colored bag behind him, but it’s far too large and can still be clearly seen behind his lithe frame. “____. I didn’t see you there. Did Sitara tell you where to find me? Or are you following me?” Twin question marks flash at you as he waits for an answer.

“I have no idea who Sitara is and unlike _some people_ ,” you give him a pointed look, “I don’t make a habit of intruding on the private time of others.”

He gives you the side eye. “Only their private information.”

“Right…” You’d actually forgotten that it was your prying that led to him hacking your shit in the first place. “Let’s just forget I said that?”

“Only if you forget that you saw me here.”

You arch a brow at him. “You really expect me to forget seeing the living incarnation of punk inside of _Rosie’s Basket?_ ” He laughs then before offering you his arm which you accept; the moment your arms connect Daryl takes that as permission to brace himself against Wrench’s leg. He lets out a happy bark as he stares up at him, tail going crazy. You can feel every muscle in the man’s body go stiff and you quickly tell the dog to heel. Daryl does as he is told immediately though he continues to stare up at Wrench expectantly. “Not a fan of dogs?” you ask as you begin to walk.

The dry “How’d you guess?” has you biting down on a laugh.

“Daryl’s a sweetie,” you assure him. “He’d never bite you. Or anyone for that matter.”

“Did he tell you that?” Your questioning look has him sighing. “I would say that it’s a long story, but it’s not. When I was seven a dog bit the shit out of this kid I knew. He lost a finger and I lost the will to love anything with more than two legs.”

“Well shit. Okay, I can see how that might make you not like dogs.” When all you receive is a noncommittal sound you decide to change the subject. “So a picnic huh? Thought you said those were too ‘meh’ for your tastes.”

“Under normal circumstances they are, but what I got planned is _awe-some_ ,” carats flash as he sing-songs the last word. “Oh, umm, you don’t get nauseous easily do you? I probably should’ve asked you that before, but planning ahead isn’t really my thing.” Ellipsis display now.

The question throws you off. Just where was he planning on taking you? “Not that I’ve noticed.”

He blows out a breath that he seems to have been holding. “Okay, good. And while we’re on the subject of questions that I should have asked earlier, you got any food allergies and-or things you just won’t eat?”

You laugh a bit at that. “Someone’s being thorough.”

“Well I can’t have you choking on your own tongue.”

“Trips to the emergency room are rarely romantic.”

“I dunno. Ending up in the ER usually means that a good time’s been had by _someone_. But seriously though, got a list?” The block’s end is in sight by the time you give him the information he needs. “Alas and alack, this is where we must part ways, my lady.”

“You’re taking the bus?” you ask as you eye the little shelter in front of you. “Didn’t you have a car last night?”

“I lent it to a friend. And when I say ‘lent’ I mean he took the keys from me while I was too tired to stop him. But don’t worry, I’ll have it back in my possession by the time I come for you.”

“And when will that be exactly?”

He checks his phone for the time. “Let’s say mmm… ninety-ish minutes?”

“Cool cool. So should I meet you here or?”

“No need for subterfuge, I already know where you live.” You can tell that he regrets the sentence the moment it leaves his mouth. “That sounded less creepy in my head, I swear.” He looks at you with tildes for eyes.

“You know, I’m not nearly as freaked out as I probably should be.”

He captures your hand with his free one and caresses it with his thumb. “ _Wife material_ ,” he whispers making you both laugh.  
  


  
**-x-x-x-**

 

 _He’s punctual_ , you think when you get a text telling you that Wrench is downstairs waiting almost ninety minutes to the second. You send back a simple _‘K’_ before flicking through the channels on your Roku in search of the one made especially to keep dogs entertained; you have no idea if it actually does what it says, but it does make you feel better about leaving Daryl alone. Done with that you grab the essentials and your laptop before heading out the door. Once outside it takes you a moment longer than it should to spot Wrench’s car. Not remembering the make or model leaves you relying mainly on color, but what you thought was black under the moonlight actually turns out to be a deep shade of gray in the sun. When you finally get in Bobo Dakes’s ‘Love Ya Right’ is playing and you sputter out a laugh. “Really Wrench?”

“A modern classic.” He gives you a wink before taking note of the laptop in your possession. “Oh shit, I forgot about that,” he says with a laugh as he looks at the many extended middle fingers that are still popping up all over the page.

You’re about to hit him with a comeback because _how the fuck do you forget fucking up my shit like this you jerkface?_ but then another voice from the back seat beats you to it. You yelp even as you brandish your laptop. The unknown man holds his hands up to ward off any incoming attacks. “Whoa, easy! Ay Wrench, call of yo’ girl!”

“____ that’s Marcus,” he says, laughter lacing his words as he places a hand on the wrist closest to him and gently pushes down. “He’s pretty much my best friend in the entirety of ever so if you could maybe not beat him to death?” You follow Wrench’s lead until the device is back in your lap, though your eyes never leave the man behind you. “And Marcus this is ____, future waifu in real laifu.”

No longer fearing being bludgeoned Marcus gives you a head nod and a wide smile. “‘Sup?”

You return the gesture, though your expression is more sheepish. “Well you certainly are swarthier than Devon von Devon,” you say eyes running over his handsome features before you realize that that can be taken a few different ways. “I… That was supposed to be a joke-slash-compliment.”

Marcus arches an eyebrow at you before bursting out laughing. “I like her. Let’s keep her.” You roll your eyes at that as you settle back into your seat. “But on the real though, how the hell did you forget that you fucked her laptop, man?”

“It’s not like that’s the only laptop that I fucked in the last twenty-four hours,” Wrench says with a shrug as he starts the car.

“Have I ever told you that you’ve got a weird relationship with technology?” You can practically hear the smirk in the man’s voice.

“At least twice in the last twelve hours. Doubt it will be the last.” He looks up into the rearview and tosses his friend a wink.

To you Marcus asks, “Mind if I take a look at that, ____?” Figuring he won’t do anything to make the problem worse you pass back the laptop. “It’s pretty warm, did you-” a chuckle, “did you leave this on all night?”

“Well, yeah. I didn’t know if shutting it off would fuck it up even more so I just left it alone.”

“Wrench man, why didn’t you tell her she could turn it off?”

“Because I’d just finished-” he pauses briefly earning guffawing laughter from the back seat. You give them both a confused look as Wrench flips the man off. “It was three in the morning and I wasn’t thinking!” He finally says, exclamation points flashing in annoyance before flicking to question marks as he addresses you. “Why didn’t you ask me about it?”

You shrug. “After we ended the chat I made myself some tea and by the time I thought about it I figured you were probably asleep and I didn’t want to wake you. And when I saw you this afternoon I’d honestly forgotten about it.”

“How did you forget about _this_?” the other man asks yet again over the tapping of keys. “If someone did this to my shit I’d be heated.”

“Well putting it in the front room so I wouldn’t have to keep looking at the good, hard fucking DedSec seemed intent on giving me helped,” comes your dry response.

A hand comes up to squeeze just below the spikes that cover Wrench’s shoulder. “She’s a keeper man. Ya done a good.”

Wrench’s only reply is a happy hum accompanied by two carets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost double the length of the first, somebody stop me.  
> I am a wordy motherfucker and for that I apologize U.U Wrench is adorable and story!you is adorable and I just can’t control myself. Honestly this is the most fun I’ve had writing in a long time.  
> Also writing Marcus gives me so much life; like he’s a gorgeous man who looks like me (figuratively at least; can’t fight the stereotype of saying we all look the same by implying that we all look the same lmao) and he’s cool and funny and just relatable in a way that makes the crevices of my heart smile. Once I work Wrench out of my system a Marcus fic will be on its way, trust and believe.  
> But anyways! If you’ve made it this far, thanks! And if you’ve left a comment, kudos, or bookmarked the story double thanks! The actual date will be in the next chapter (obvi) and it’s gonna be something…  
> Side note: Let me know if this was too long and I’ll gladly start chopping my chapters up. This isn’t to say that I’ll be less wordy because _HAHAHAHAAA_ , only that the story will be spread out over more chapters.


	3. Date the First or The Curious Incident of the Boat in the Night-Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being MIA. I had family in town for the holidays and my favorite cousin popped up randomly so I spent as much time with her as possible. But now it's back to work. It sucks, but at least uploads will be regular from here on out. Fridays will be the official day that I add chapters, at least until I’m done writing the story. After that I’ll get them out as quick as I can. But I’ve talked enough. Here’s chapter 3, let’s hope it was worth the wait!

When you drop Marcus off at Gary’s Games and Glory the man promises that your laptop will be back in working order by the time you return. It’s an odd place to take electronics to get fixed, but you figure that he’s going to work on it in his spare time.  
  
“I’d never have guessed he was into table top gaming,” you muse as you watch him disappear through the plate glass door.  
  
“Oh-ho, yeah,” Wrench says with a laugh as he pulls back into traffic. “Underneath that beautiful, chocolaty exterior lies the biggest fuckin’ nerd.”  
  
Your brows rise at that. “Seriously?”  
  
“Totally. Next time you see him ask him about his D-and-D character Elias. Listening to him talk about that shit? Fascinating.”  
  
“And what about you?”  
  
“What about me?” Question marks flash, though he thankfully keeps his eyes… (err… sensors? cameras?) on the road.  
  
“Are you a giant nerd under your lightly toasted exterior?” you ask, amusement lacing your words.  
  
He does spare you a glance then. “I’m part of a hacker group, I have memes stitched into my clothes, and I prefer to communicate primarily through symbols and emotes. What do you think?”  
  
You concede the point with a slight shrug. “Guess that answers that.” As a silence settles over the car you take a moment to examine the landscape in an attempt to figure out where you’re going. It’s apparent he’s heading towards the water, but that doesn’t tell you much. Hell, majority of the state’s ass is steeped in the Pacific.  
  
“I thought you’d have more questions for me,” Wrench says pulling you back to the moment.  
  
“Honestly I thought I would too, but now that we’re here the only question I can think of is ‘where is he taking me?’”  
  
He chuckles at that. “Might as well let that one go babe. These lips are sealed.”  
  
“Not even a little hint?” When your attempted pout only earns more laughter you actually try to think of something to ask him. The questions that come to you are mundane at best and when you tell him as much he shrugs.  
  
“Ask ‘em anyway. Who knows? I just may have a not-so-boring answer.”  
  
After shrugging yourself you work through a series of basics like favorite color (gray, specifically the shade that tints the sky right before a bad storm), favorite kind of music ( _“Anything with a good beat, nothing with a banjo.”_ ), and worse habit ( _“Some would say my love for blowing shit up, but honestly I think that’s one of my better qualities so I’ll go with nail biting.”_ ) before moving on to more personal things.  
  
“How’d you even get into hacking in the first place?” Asked after answering the same questions that you’d posed just moments before.  
  
“I know this will be hard for you to believe but I-” he pauses dramatically as his left hand forms a loose fist over his heart, “was an outcast.” The two underscores that appeared flicker back to X’s as he laughs. “I had a few friends, but I was a, hmm, how’d Mrs. Goldwin put it? ‘A bad influence wrapped up in destructive tendencies.’”  
  
You snicker at that. “So you always like to blow shit up then?”  
  
“Well yeah, but what kid doesn’t?”  
  
“I didn’t,” you give back.  
  
“Oh _please_ , ____. You telling me that you don’t get even the teensiest of ladyboners when you think of something going _boom?_ ” When all he receives is a look he shrugs. “Anyway the few friends I did have had to stop hanging out with me after I accidentally set Brian’s treehouse on fire and-”  
  
“Umm, _excuse_? You’re not just going to gloss over _setting a fuckin’ treehouse on fire_ , dude.”  
  
Exclamation points flicker. “I said it was an accident! And it wasn’t entirely my fault. Brian was the science nerd that came up with the idea to make our own cherry bombs, I just got the supplies.” He pauses for a moment. “Hm. You know, now that I think about it, the fire probably wasn’t my fault at all…” Hashtags appear as he muses. “David’s the one that lit the damn thing. Fuck man, I’ve been carrying the guilt of those bitches loosing various bits of body hair for almost sixteen years! But anyway!” he says, going from pissed to cheery at speed that’s almost disorienting. “After that their parents didn’t want them hanging around me and my parents didn’t want to spend the whole summer looking after me so they made me sign up for day camp. I wasn’t a jock and I’ve never been the artsy type so that pretty much left me with computer camp. That’s what introduced me to the world, but Nick is what made me want to stay.  
  
“He was pretty much the coolest guy ever –still is actually. He does hacks out of LA now, but back then he was a coder for Nudle. They volunteered him for the camp as some tax write-off bullshit. I’m sure it wasn’t his idea of a good time, but it was the best thing that happened to me. Learning script it just, I don’t know… It’s like it opened up the world for me, if that makes sense. I finally found something that I was good at and liked doing. Being able to create something and watch its effects? There’s nothing like that feeling.”  
  
Listening to him speak so passionately sparks something warm in your chest. You could listen to him speak this way forever, but he’s already moving on unaware of the way that he’s begun to endear himself to you. “Mostly he had us making script mods for The Sims, but it was still cool as fuck. After camp was over I was still really into it, obviously. Nick pointed me in the direction of some forums and after lurking around those for a while I got into more complex forms of coding and yeah. But that’s the boring shit. Once I got to high school that’s when things really got interesting.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
He nods. “Somebody fucked up my schedule and I ended up with shop class instead of programming. I was pissed, but once Mister Watts pulled out the blowtorch I was in.”  
  
“You’re not sexually attracted to fire are you?” It’s a tease as well as a nod to what you both decided was one of the best jokes in _The Simpson’s_.  
  
“Fire? No. Welding? Possibly. Welder masks? _Definitely._ ” He tosses you a wink before continuing on. “I spent all of my free time in the shop. Annoyed the hell outta Watts, but he got over it eventually. That class was the only thing I missed when I dropped out.” Unsure if you should comment on that last bit you settle for a noncommittal noise. “You’re not even going to ask why I dropped out?”  
  
His question makes you furrow your brows. “Well I thought that if you wanted me to know you’d tell me. Can’t blame a girl for trying to be polite.”  
  
He looks over at you through neutral X’s and not for the first time you find yourself hating the fact that you can’t actually see his face to read it. “True,” he finally says. “Shit’s too heavy for first date talk anyway. Plus, we’re here!”  
  
You’d been so wrapped up in the conversation that you didn’t even notice that he was pulling into a parking lot. Or, at least you assumed it was a parking lot. A light dusting of sand covered the ground around you preventing you from seeing any definable features. _Are we having our picnic here?_ you wonder as you look out at the beach goers that dot the sand that lay beyond you. The concept, while romantic enough, seems too… normal for Wrench. You’re still not sure what he’s up to, but in this case Occam’s Razor does not apply. _I’m missing something._ As he maneuvers his car over the crunching surface to park you think back to the conversation you had earlier this afternoon; nothing sticks out until you remember the question about nausea. _Why would a beach make me nauseous? I live in San Francisco, aside from a beached whale there are very few things that’ll make be blanch. And after last year’s Swelter Skelter a too small banana hammock barely even registers with me anymore._ Your snort of laughter goes unnoticed as Wrench is already hopping out of the car. You start to follow suit, but you can tell that he’s rushing around to get the door for you.  
  
“ _M’lady,_ ” he says as he opens the thing and bows.  
  
You take the hand that is stretched out to you. “Thank you, kind sir.” When he dips his head over your hand and touches his mask to your skin you giggle a bit. Along with the cool of the metal you expect to feel the bite of spikes against the thin skin, but they’re actually more rounded off than pointy. Before you can comment on this he’s up and moving again; this time closing the door before opening up the one behind it and grabbing the blanket and the basket. At the sight of the pale colored wood your mind picks up right where it left off. _So what would induce nausea then? Heat? No, it’s February so no risk of heat stroke. Water maybe?_ You give him a glance that you hope doesn’t comes off as suspicious as you link your arm through his.  
  
“What ya thinkin’ about?”  
  
You’re not sure why you feel guilty when you look at the question marks staring back at you. “Would you be mad if I said I was still trying to guess what your surprise is?”  
  
He laughs a bit. “Not really mad, no, but I would be very disappointed,” he takes on a typical dad tone as two Q’s show before flicking back to the X’s. “So cut it out, will ya?”  
  
“Alright, alright,” you say as you raise your free hand in surrender.  
  
The sounds of people trying to enjoy what little warmth the season is allowing them comes in on a salty breeze, though no words pass between the pair of you. The silence is as comfortable as it is surprising. At first glance Wrench struck you as the type to always have to be filling up the atmosphere around him with something, be it words or a spastic movement. Tranquility of any sort just didn’t seem to mesh well with the brash persona that he chose the shroud himself in. Even on the ride over he seemed determined to keep you both talking (though to be fair, that was probably more so to keep you from noticing where he was taking you). But walking arm-in-arm with him now with little more than fleeting glances between you, you find yourself reevaluate that stance. _There’s a whole universe behind that mask_ , you think as you watch his bobbing profile. The thought of unraveling the mysteries that make up Wrench makes your heart beat just a little bit faster and rosedust tint your cheeks. You haven’t fallen for him, not yet, but dammit if you don’t see it coming.  
  
You’ve been so lost in your own head that you don’t even notice the docks until the feeling of rough wood replaces the subtle shifting of sand under your feet. It’s only then that you realize that the sounds of humanity that were at your back last you checked in on reality have faded under the lapping of water against shoreline. A quick look back shows you that the car that you’d come in is just a speck on the deepening colors of the horizon and it’s only then that you realize just how long you’ve been walking.  
  
“So I know you’ve probably figured it out by now… Or not,” he amends when he looks at your puzzled face. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re impossibly cute when you’re trying to figure out just what the fuck is going on?”  
  
You turn your eyes skyward now, suddenly shy and _goddammit this is why I hate dealing with crushes._ “Can’t say that I’ve gotten that one before.”  
  
Two carets flash as he lets the arm that joins you to drop enough for him to catch your hand, a thing that doesn’t help with the butterflies that are mounting an escape from your stomach. “Well you’d better get used to that shit because it’s true and honestly if you’re going to be spending any extended amount of time with me you’re probably going to be wearing the expression _a lot._ ”  
  
“I don’t doubt it,” you say with a laugh. “So a boat date then?” you ask, though the answer is painfully obvious now. He smiles his electronic smile again as he nods. “Kalie told me that hacking pays… well whatever you’re willing to make it to pay really, but I didn’t think you’d have a boat.” He just doesn’t seem like the sailing type to you despite the very vivid mental picture you currently have of him in nothing but white shorts, a red ascot, and the mask.  
  
“Well technically speaking, _I_ don’t.”  
  
It’s something about the way he says it and the quotation marks that appear that makes you uneasy. “So you’re borrowing one from a friend or…” You know this isn’t the answer before he’s even begun to shake his head.  
  
“ _Nooot_ from a friend _per say..._ ” When you give him a look that says ‘cut the bullshit’ he sighs. “Can you really call it ‘stealing’ if I plan on bringing it back?”  
  
“I’m sure that’s what the police will call it,” you give back dryly.  
  
He spins so that you’re facing each other. Exclamation marks blink at you as he cries, “Oh come on, ____! Don’t be that way!”  
  
“ _‘Don’t be that way’_? Wrench I-”  
  
“Before you say no,” he interrupts, “you should know that this guy, he’s a grade A d-bag. He’s got a wife, three kids, an English bulldog named Muffy, as well as hos in different area codes. Specifically 917, 305, and 213.  
  
_Okay, that’s weirdly specific._ “How do you know this?”  
  
“Suffice it to say I’ve got insider access to Nudle’s everything. Anyway he’s visiting side piece _número tres_ for the weekend so he won’t even know that we’ve taken it. I would call it a victimless crime, but there’s not even a victim, not really.” When you continue to give him a skeptical look he lifts the hand that’s still in his to his chest as carets appear. “Come on babe, it’s foolproof.”

You start to say that it’s impossible for this plan to ever be ‘foolproof’ because _we’re about to steal a boat!_ and _fucking really dude?_ But… There’s a small part of you that sees the merits of the idea. And the longer you look at Wrench the larger and more insistent that part becomes. _After all, the guy is a cheating dick_ , you reason. _And it’s not like we’re actually stealing it stealing it. The guy’s not even in the city right now; it’s not like he’ll ever even know…_  
  
“I can see it in your eyes.” Wrench's chuckle is dark as he regards you. “The idea’s growing on you, isn’t it?”  
  
_We’re not even into the date good and he’s already got me contemplating grand theft auto. And I’m weirdly okay with it? I am in so much trouble, aren’t I?_ “If we end up in jail-” you say on a sigh, the slightest bit of warning in your tone.  
  
“Then it’ll really be a party!”  
  
You slap at the arm burdened with the picnic basket. “Not even in the troposphere of funny.”  
  
“Hey,” the X’s are back as Wrench gives your hand a squeeze. “I’d never put you in a situation that could cause you any real harm, you know that right? I know this is going to sound like some pseudo-knightly bullshit, so forgive me now, but I’ll always protect you, ____. Even if it’s from my own dumb ass.”  
  
You can practically feel the sincerity pushing its way through his pores and it makes you melt, if only just. _Yup. I’m in trouble. And I am in deep._ You flash him a shy smile. “Well in that case, what are we waiting for?”  
  
He smiles at you as he gives your hand another squeeze. “Come on, it’s this way.” He leads you to the nicest boat docked before swapping out your hand for his phone. He then passes you the picnic basket so he can tap at the device. Half a minute later the boat lights up and a soft purring that can just be heard above the water’s ebb and flow starts. “May I present to you, _Sea Rocket._ Hey, don’t make that face at me; I didn’t name the fucker.”  
  
You snicker as you allow yourself to be led onto the boat. As you set the basket down on a leather-coated bench seat another thought strikes you. “Do you even know how to drive a boat?”  
  
“I believe the term you’re looking for is _sail._ ” You roll your eyes as you move to join him at the wheel. “And yes, I do. This isn’t my first rodeo. Or, umm –is there a water-based equivalent of a rodeo?” To that you just shrug. “Eh. Well either way I know what the fuck I’m doing.” His voice speaks of confidence as he pulls the vehicle away from the dock. “Honestly the learning curve isn’t that steep, especially with the auto-correctors on these newer models; they take almost all of the work out of it. You wanna give it a go?”  
  
You shake your head. “Once we’re in more open waters, maybe.” As he continues with his task you turn you attention back towards the basket. “Mind if I start setting this up?”  
  
He looks back before nodding. “Yeah, go ahead. We can do it here or if you’re cold we can go downstairs.”  
  
The offer is purely thoughtful even if you mind instantly takes it somewhere else. You shake your head hard in an attempt to set it straight. _Focus on the cold girl. Focus. On. The. Cold._ The chill coming from the water mixing with the season’s weather makes it easy at least. You do feel somewhat nippy, but it’s nothing your outerwear can’t handle. Ignoring the blanket for now, you go right for the basket. The brief time that you held it, it proved to be quite heavy; opening it now you see why. At least half a dozen mason jars and Tupperware containers are all filled to the brim with various foods, all of which look to be homemade. When Wrench had asked you what foods you liked earlier you thought that he’d go and by pre-made versions of them, but this… For some reason the thought of him cooking for you makes you want to hide your face in your hands. The fact that he thinks you worth the time; it’s just the sweetest of gestures…  
  
“You cooked for me?” Your smile comes through your voice as you inspect a salad-in-a-jar that contains all of your favorite veggies. _And that dressing doesn’t look store bought either. Damn. He really went all out._  
  
“Yeah...” His tone is casual, but his posture is anything but. He’s gone from slightly slouchy to ramrod straight and you’re sure that if you could see his hands the knuckles on them would be even paler than usual from a death grip on the wheel.  
  
“ _Aww, Wrench,_ ” you coo at him. You can’t remember the last time a guy actually cooked for you. You really want to see what else he brought, but trying to balance the glass containers against the table’s slick surface while the boat is still moving seems like a bad idea. Knowing that practicality must trump curiosity, you put the salad back and rest the basket against the stability of the floor before going to him again. You give his arm a fond squeeze before leaning against him as much as his vest will allow. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”  
  
He shrugs as he pointedly keeps his eyes on the water. “It’s not a big deal.”  
  
Part of you wants tease him –rubbing at the knit of his sweater and whispering _‘Boyfriend material’_ as he did to you hours before is at the forefront of your mind– but you’re pretty sure that if he gets any more embarrassed in this moment he may actually dissolve into a Wrench-sized puddle of hot shame. So instead you ask him if he can show you how to pilot the boat. He’s clearly grateful for the subject change and takes to the impromptu lesson with the type of enthusiasm that he seemingly puts into just about everything. After five or so minutes explaining what everything does he lets you take over. Ten minutes later you feel as if you’ve been sailing all your life.  
  
“See? Easy,” he says from where he stands behind you.  
  
His hands have finally left yours now that he’s sure you won’t somehow run the thing into one of the other seafaring vehicles around you. Though his confidence in you is nice, you much prefer the feeling of warm, slightly calloused palms against your skin. _Oh! That is nice too_ , you think when he steps into you more fully and wraps his arms around your middle. You don’t bother hiding your smile as you lean back into him. “‘Promise me you won’t let go, Jack’,” you quip. You’re pretty sure you just butchered the quote from one of film’s most iconic scenes, but who cares?  
  
“I feel like _Titanic_ quotes would work better if we were at the bow of the ship, or ya know, if I were dying of water-induced hypothermia.”  
  
“You’re so good at this romance stuff,” you say as you look up at him from where your head finds a safe place to rests against his attire. The sarcasm of your words is negated by the giggle that follows them.  
  
“The best,” he agrees with a sage nod of his head. Once you’ve gotten far enough out that other boats won’t be a problem he walks you through stopping and stabilizing the boat. “Kay, food time now.”  
  
It only takes placing down one of the containers on the small table to realize that even now nothing good will come of it. Wrench crosses his arms, ellipsis popping up period-by-period as he thinks. “Got it!” he all but yells after a moment. The only thing louder than his words is the clap that accompanies them.  
  
He grabs the blanket and proceeds to step over a little gate that you hadn’t even noticed was there. You half expect to hear a splash, but there’s only the sound of well-worn Converse hitting plastic. Curious, you kneel over the seat’s back and look down. There’s a little seating area, but he ignores this choosing instead to spread the soft, eggshell colored material over the platform that’s lower down. “That’s _really_ close to the water, Wrench,” you say on the off chance that he somehow hasn’t noticed this.  
  
Question marks glance up at you. “Why do you sound more nervous about this than you did about going on a roof that was three stories high?”  
  
“I wasn’t in danger of falling off that building,” you defend. “Being this close to the water… Okay so I _probably_ won’t fall in, but the thought of getting wet right now isn’t very appealing.”  
  
“There’s at least half a dozen jokes in there, but low-hanging fruit.” He flashes you a wink before motioning for the basket.  
  
A smirk pulls at your lips then. “‘Low-hanging fruit’, eh?” Your voice is amused as you hand him the thing. “There’s got to be just as many jokes there, if not more.”  
  
He pauses mid-motion, looking over the basket that still connects you. “The Waifu to end all Waifus, I swear.” You, being the picture of beauty and grace, snort at that. “Now, would you kindly join me down here for our meal?” he says moments later.  
  
The phrasing brings back memories of an undersea city and Irish accent. “Are you trying to Atlas mind trick me?”  
  
“Only if it’s working,” he says with a laugh as he offers you a hand.

  
  
**-x-x-x-  
  
**

The meal that Wrench prepared for you holds many of your favorites, a thing that brings back that warm feeling in your chest. You haven’t even known the guy for a full twenty-four hours and already he’s better at the boyfriend thing than most. Not that you think that of him as your boyfriend just yet (see the _‘known him less than twenty-four hours’_ bit), but if things keep going this way…  
  
You spend a good majority of the meal talking about cooking techniques of all things, something that the man is surprisingly versed in. Apparently his maternal grandmother was a professional chef and he spent the rest of his teenage years after dropping out with her. When you see that talking about the woman is making him sad you steer the conversation elsewhere. You end up sharing stories from each of your lives (turns out he has a younger sister who’s expecting her first kid) before moving on to video games (unsurprisingly he’s a PC gamer, though he does hold a grudging respect for the PS4 Pro’s specs) and finally movies.  
  
“You can’t tell me that _True Believers Never Die_ isn’t your favorite!”  
  
You take in the two O’s that stare back at you with amusement. While you do really like the forth movie in the Devon von Devon series it’s hardly your favorite, much to everyone’s chagrin. “I actually like the second one better.”  
  
Exclamation points flash now. “ _Victory at All Costs._ Are you seriously trying to tell me that _that’s_ your _favorite?_ ” his voice is incredulous and you’re positive that under that mask he’s the most indignant shade of red. Your only response is a shrug followed by a laugh when his readout goes nuts. “I knew you were too good to be true.” That makes you laugh even harder. “I want a ten page essay on my desk by tomorrow on why you think that movie can rival the cinematic genius that is _True Believers._ Single spaced, MLA format. MLA –that’s still a thing they do right?” he asks over the sounds of your continued guffaws and the vibrating of his phone.  
  
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” you ask between giggles. He pats at the thing where it sits in his vest’s pocket before waving it off. “Everyone knows you’re on a date right? So they probably wouldn’t call unless it’s important,” you reason.  
  
“Don’t think this is gonna get you out of writing that paper, young lady,” he says giving you his equivalent of a glare as he answers the call. “Hey, Ratio. You’d better have a good rea-” He jerks up, all traces of joking gone. “What? Shit! _How?!_ Okay. Yeah. Tell me how to fix this.”  
  
Your head instantly goes on the swivel as you look for the unknown threat. Fear sits heavy in your gut, turning the food there into an uncomfortably warm lump as you mind instantly goes over a list of worse case scenarios. _This was a bad idea._ Variations of the sentence repeats on a loop in your head as you continue to look for whatever has gotten Wrench so shook. Moonlit waters offer you nothing to focus on and so you turn your attention back to what’s going on around you. For his part Wrench has gone up to the front of the boat; given the harsh whispers he’s exchanging with this Ratio person you can only assume that it’s to keep from scaring you even more. _Too late for that._ The wry thought has you rubbing at your temples in an attempt to calm down. Needing to have something to do, if only to keep yourself from going into a full blown panic, you pack everything into the basket. You lose a jar to the water thanks to shaking hands, but it turns out that this isn’t a problem since he tells you to dump _everything_ into the ocean.  
  
“What?” You couldn’t have heard that right.  
  
“Dump it!” he says again. “Don’t want to leave any evidence behind.”  
  
“Oh _fuck me._ ” You sloppily fold the blanket and shove it under the basket’s handles before pushing it all into the water.  
  
When you’ve finally made your way back to the front of the boat Wrench is still on the phone. From his side of the conversation it seems as if he’s getting directions of some sort. This doesn’t make sense to you, but then again nothing about this situation does. As he continues to talk you look around yet again to see if there’s anyone trailing you. This time you do spot the silhouette of what has to be another boat, though it’s too far out to see any defining features. The boat seems to be following you, but since you are heading towards the docks it’s hard to tell if this is really the case.  
  
“Alright, here’s the plan.”  
  
It takes a second for you to realize that he’s talking to you now. “What?”  
  
“I’m going to need you to pay attention babe because things are about to get hairy.” You give him a look, but let him continue. “When we get to the dock there’s going to be some people waiting for us. One of them’s going to be Matt Cauldwell, that’s the guy that owns this boat. He’ll probably have some friends with him. The rest are going to be cops.” The way he says this is far too casual for your liking. No one, in your opinion, should ever be this calm when talking about police while on a _stolen boat._ “This isn’t as bad as it sounds,” he tries to assure you.  
  
“I really don’t think you’re hearing the words that you’re saying right now, Wrench.” Despite everything your voice is oddly calm as well. Your lack of panic is probably due to shock though, unlike his which is due in large part to familiarity with these types of situations.  
  
“No, it’s all good, I promise.” And then he _laughs._ He actually has the nerve to _laugh and oh my God why did I think this was a good idea?!_ “No, babe, don’t get mad! Look, we’ve got a plan! Just hear me out!”  
  
“ _Wrench…_ ”  
  
“They’re going to try to arrest us, _**but**_!” he says the word loudly to keep you from talking over him, “the key word there is _‘try’_. Okay? Ratio told me that they’re using those new face scanner things. You’ve heard of them right? They cut down on processing time back at the stations-”  
  
_Why is he actually taking the time to explain this?!_ “The _plan_ Wrench. Focus!”  
  
“Right! Okay, so it’ll get hacked it, it’ll go all _boom-sparkle-sparkle_ , and while they’re all stunned we’ll make our getaway.”  
  
Your eyes are wide with disbelief. “ _That’s_ your plan. To blow something up –hoping that it won’t kill us in the process– and make a run for it?”  
  
“It won’t _kill_ anyone.” The way he says it it’s as if you should know better. “It’ll just… incapacitate them.”  
  
Given the fact that he’s still talking about _police_ this still doesn’t seem like a very good idea. “There’s got to be a better way,” you say as you run a hand over your hair in distress. “Why can’t we just dock somewhere else? That seems like an infinitely better idea.”  
  
“I would but there’s not enough gas to get us far enough away. Besides they’re tracking the boat so they’d probably just end up meeting us there.”  
  
“‘They’re tracking the boat’.” You give a hollow laugh as you shake your head a bit. “ _Of course_ they’re tracking it. Why _wouldn’t_ they be tracking it? How are they tracking it, Wrench? Didn’t you disable the chip?” You might not be as knowledgeable as him when it comes to these things, but even laymen know that damn near everything has some sort of tracking device in it.  
  
He side eyes you then, clearly offended. “Of course I did! One of his friends spotted us out here on the water, knew that he wasn’t supposed to be in town, and called him.”  
  
_Foiled by the most primitive form of identification. Nice._ As the dock draws nearer you see that there is indeed a group of people waiting to receive you. The lights that line the pier don’t allow you to make out anyone besides the people in the distinctive blue uniforms, but they’re all that truly matter. The sight shakes you and it has you instinctively moving closer to Wrench. “So what are we doing again?” you asking, needing the reassurance that his confidence brings (even if you do still think it to be misplaced).  
  
“Just stay cool and follow my lead. When I say something about this being ‘a mistake’ close your eyes and when I grab your hand run as hard and as fast as you can.” It’s still a shit plan as far as you’re concerned, but it’s the only one you got. As Wrench dock’s the boat the police give you the whole spiel about keeping your hands where they can see them and moving slowly towards them; the stun guns that they point at you giving extra incentive to do as you’re told immediately.  
  
As you comply a man who’s built like the most intimidating of WWE Superstars pushes towards you. “You fucker’s thought that you could just steal my shit and get away with it!” He growls his words in a way that leaves you thinking that even his voice has muscles in it. “Don’t you know who I am?” You hadn’t recognized the name when you heard it, but seeing him under the yellow-tinged light brings back a vague recollection. Matthew Cauldwell is the eldest of his children and heir to the family fortune. At first glance the Cauldwell’s seem like basic rich people; they give funding to anyone in the state that needs it, be it an understaffed hospital or a youth center on the brink of closing. The host fund raisers and galas all while leading a lavish lifestyle that not even some A-listers can compete with. Of course with all of that money and power comes corruption; there was talk about them having high ranking people throughout the nation in their pocket, including state officials. Nothing’s ever been proven, but with the amount of money they wield that’s not surprising. Lately they’ve been starting gentrification projects under the guise of goodwill. Oakland is their latest and largest target, but hardly the first.  
  
“Nobody messes with Matty C and walks!”  
  
_Great, he’s got his own hype men_ , you think when a man who’s far less familiar feels the need to speak. The rest of his crew all start to chime in then as if this is some type of twisted sermon in need of an ‘amen’.  
  
“Like we give a fuck, dude.” That, of course, is Wrench. While antagonizing a bunch of juiced up men, even when surrounded by officers, isn’t the best idea you can hardly blame him; all this posturing is getting annoying.  
  
Variations of ‘what did you just say?’ start up then as they all move forward with impressive synchronicity. In turn this draws the attention of the police who urge them to calm down before things get out of control.  
  
You’re not sure if this is what Wrench was hoping for all along or if the setup is just too perfect to be ignored, but there’s no time to figure it out because he’s is telling you to close your eyes and screaming “ _NOW!_ ”  
  
Even with your lids protecting your retinas the light is still just this side of blinding. You don’t have time to register the shock before you’re being pulled forward. Your swimming vision leaves you with just enough perception to dodge the flailing bodies that clog up the pier. The sounds of your combined footfalls against the wood are loud, but not enough to drown out electronic sounding sizzles and hisses or the resulting screams. Muddled thoughts wonder what the hell’s going on behind you, but self-preservation keeps you from looking back. When you finally clear the dock you expect to head back to Wrench’s car, but he pulls you in the opposite direction. You keep running, fast, hard, and seemingly aimlessly until a black car comes into view. The back door opens and he angles you towards it before damn near flinging you into the vehicle. You let out the most undignified yelp as you curl inwards in an attempt to protect your body. Your head collides with another body as you end up sprawled across the backseat. The door slams behind you and a few seconds later you feel the weight of the car shift. The sound of Wrench cackling wildly fills the small space as he hops in on the passenger side. The car’s speeding off before he’s even shut his door.  
  
Wrench starts to speak to whoever’s driving, but you can’t make out the words over the sounds of your labored breathing and a rabbit heartbeat. So instead you focus on righting yourself in your seat before looking over to see who you landed on. The man has to be uncomfortable with the way he’s pressed so tightly against the door opposite you, but aside from this he hardly seems affected by the scenario. With you no longer invading his space he settles his laptop back across his knees and goes back to work. The soft glow of the screen reveals what appears to be the beginning of a bruise peeking out at from under the green of his hoodie.  
  
“Sorry,” you say with a wince. If the ache in your head is any indication you did that when you fell on him.  
  
“Wrench threw you, it isn’t your fault,” he says, eyes never leaving screen. You look to see what has him so distracted only to find what looks like a modified version of Nudle Maps. There’s a cluster of red dots that’s slowly dispersing in one spot while a blue dot moves in the opposite direction faster than what is humanly possible. “Marcus got away. And you should take the next left Sitara.”  
  
_Sitara_. You recognize that name. Your eyes snap back to the car’s front, this time focusing on the driver, but you can’t make out much in the darkness.  
  
The woman’s silhouette nods, making what you assume has to be her hair sway in time. “Got ya. Can you tell where he’s headed?”  
  
“Looks like he’s going to try to lose them in the dockyards.”  
  
“Smart.”  
  
“Should I get him on the phone?”  
  
“Nah, he needs to concentrate.”  
  
“Right. Nobody seems to be following us, but I still wouldn’t go directly back to the hackerspace.” Said in the same slightly stilted way that every other sentence has been delivered. There’s something about the man beside you that seems a bit… odd, though you can’t quite put your finger on it. You look at him then, but nothing about his face tells you anything aside from the fact that he’s probably the youngest person in the car.  
  
“Think it’s safe enough to drop ____ at home?” Wrench asks. At the mention of your name the other two take more notice of your presence.  
  
“We’ll do a lap, just in case,” Sitara says, though her tone sounds much more mischievous than it did just seconds before. “Besides, we still haven’t officially met your girl. Introduce us?”  
  
“Oh, shit, right!” Wrench clears his throat dramatically as he leans over so that he can look into the backseat. “Guys, this is ____; she’s awesome, you’ll love her. ____, this is Sitara, DedSec’s Queen Regnant.”  
  
The woman looks back at you for a moment and gives you a “Hey” that you return.  
  
“And the guy next to you is Josh, hacker-boy wonder.”  
  
That finally gets him to look up. “No.”  
  
“Aww come on! It’s better than Cyberchild.”  
  
Josh makes a pained sound at that. “ _Don’t._ ”  
  
“I wish we could’ve met under better circumstances,” Sitara says as over the sounds of the two males bickering, “but you are dating Wrench so this seems about right.”  
  
“I resent that!” Wrench flops back into his seat properly.  
  
“Your resentment doesn’t make it any less true.” There’s a ghost of a smile on Josh’s lips then, but it fades as he turns his attention back to you. Now that he’s finally looking at you he can’t seem to stop. Intent eyes search your face in the illumination of the streetlight blur leaving you feeling a bit self-conscious.  
  
“Do I have something on my face?” you ask with a nervous laugh.  
  
“She seems normal,” he says, still staring, “ _too_ normal. How did you even find her? And why does she want you?” The question seems to be directed towards the others, but his eyes remain on you.  
  
“Josh!”  
  
“Hey, fuck you man!”  
  
Despite the admonishment he still seems to be expecting an answer from you. “We met at a party yesterday?” Under his continuing gaze your words come out as a question as if you yourself are unsure of their validity. “As for the why, it’s a mutual attraction on a few different levels. Wrench is just,” _so sweet and funny and kind_ , “–he’s just my kind of people.”  
  
He files this information away with a nod of his head as he turns his attention back towards his computer. Your brows furrow a bit as you watch him track Marcus’s progress. His focus is unwavering, single-minded even. And then it starts to click with you. _Autism maybe? No, that’s not quite it. Asperger’s?_ It would explain how he’s acting and why he’s sitting so far away from you. You move then so that you’re sitting in the right hand seat instead of the middle. As soon as you shift Josh moves over just a tiny bit more, confirming your suspicions. You make a mental note to keep a respectful distance between you, at least until he’s more comfortable with your presence.  
  
“So he’s your kind of people, huh?” Sitara asks, making you shift your attention. “So are you an adrenaline junkie or what?” You can tell that this is meant to _sound_ like a joke, but there’s something in her delivery that gives you the impression that she’s interrogating you. When Wrench says her name in a tone that’s half warning, half plea you know that’s exactly what she’s doing.  
  
_So he’s got protective friends too. Kalie and the rest would totally do the same given the chance._ The entire situation makes you want to smile, even if it is a bit nerve wracking. “When I agreed to this date I hardly expected this,” you say honestly.  
  
“So you wouldn’t have taken him up on it if you knew?”  
  
“If a guy told you that your date was going to end with having weapons pointed at you, would you?” you challenge. “I know this might be a bit more commonplace for you guys, but it’s nowhere near normal for me. But…” You pause for a moment as you consider your words. “He told me that he’d never get me into a situation that he couldn’t get me out of and before that he told me that he’d always tell me the truth. It’s probably going to sound naïve, but I… I believe him.”  
  
The other woman’s eyes catch yours in the rearview. Light irises are appraising as they attempt to bore through you. “You just met him, but you trust him? Just like that?”  
  
“Just like that,” you say with a confidence that surprise even you. “Like I said, when we talked last night he promised that he’d never lie to me, so when he told me he’d look out for me I trusted him. And since I’m sitting in the back of your car right now instead of a cop’s I’d say he delivered.” It hasn’t gone unnoticed that Wrench has remained quiet for the entirety of this exchange, but you let it go. Hell, he’s probably looking for some answers himself.  
  
For her part Sitara nods her head slowly. She says something you don’t catch before turning towards Wrench. You can’t see her smile, but you can hear it in her voice when she speaks to him. “Marcus was right. You have found a keeper.” You wonder if the simple statement has made his face as red as yours is surely going.  
  
“You shouldn’t talk about people like they’re not there when they are. They usually don’t appreciate it.” Josh’s eyes slide over to you before dropping back to his laptop. You don’t know him well enough to know how much his words have cost him, but his defense of you still makes you smile.  
  
“You’re right,” the woman concedes before turning her attention back to you. The rest of Sitara’s questions aren’t nearly so loaded and before long you’re all laughing and talking comfortably. For his part Josh mostly keeps quiet, though he does laugh along from time to time.  
  
When your building comes into view you’re not quite ready to leave their company, though the events of the day are starting to catch up with you. Wrench opens your door yet again before escorting you to the two slabs of plate glass that make up the building’s entrance. “I’m not sure which I should apologize for first,” he starts once you’re far enough away that he won’t be overheard, “The boat bit or the whole ‘good cop, bad cop’ act in the car.”  
  
Sitara was clearly playing the role of ‘bad cop’, but- “Who was good cop?”  
  
“Josh.” When you give him a question look he chuckles. “Trust me, he can be just as bad as Sitara, worse even. He’s uhh, he’s got Asperger’s,” he says, all traces of mirth gone now. “He says it’s on the milder side and that makes it easier to manage, but it still affects him. So if he ever does or says anything out of line he doesn’t mean it. Unless he means it.” That makes you both laugh a bit. “Like I said, dude can be an asshole when he wants to be, but you’ll know when that’s what he’s going for; subtlety isn’t really his thing.”  
  
“Well let’s just hope I never do anything to piss him off then,” you say, still laughing a bit. “But it’s all good. I get what Sitara was doing. If I ever left you alone with my friends for more than five seconds they’d do the same. And that’s not even mentioning my family.”  
  
“Only one date in and you’re already thinking about taking me home to meet the folks, huh?” he teases.  
  
“Well it was one hell of a date,” you say, playing along. “There was action, romance, and performances from the city’s leading hacker group. Really everything you need to make a good date or a good movie.”  
  
“If this were a movie I’d have at least kissed you by now.”  
  
“‘At least’?”  
  
“Yeah dude. I mean, you saw _CyberDriver_ , right? Not even a full thirty minutes in and Siska had Lana Reed’s character on all fours.”  
  
You cringe a bit as you remember the totally unnecessary sex scene and the even more bizarre monologue that the man had given while pounding her. “That movie was hot garbage.”  
  
“Thinking about it makes our date seem a lot better, now doesn’t it?” When you nod two tildes alternate in their flashing as he wiggles his fingers in a way that can only be described as ‘mage-y’. “Jedi Mind Trick achieved!”  
  
You give him a playful shove. “Dork,” you say with a fond laugh. “But really, I actually enjoyed our date. Could’ve done without the whole ‘cops pointing guns at me’ part, but everything else? Aces.”  
  
The carets are back, though this time the one on the right has a semicolon next to it. “If it makes you feel any better those were Tasers, not actual guns.” He gives a sheepish laugh before question marks appear. “So you had a good time then? Like for real? You’re not just saying that?”  
  
“I really did Wrench,” you assure him. “I like being with you. You’re smart, funny, insightful about some of the oddest things. And getting to know your friends was cool too. They seem like good people.”  
  
“They’re some of the best I know,” he says with a fondness that can’t be hidden. “So does this mean we can do this again next week?”  
  
You give him a nod and a wide smile. “Oh, _for sure_ dude. Only this time _I’m_ taking _you_ out.” When exclamation marks flash you raise a hand to stop the questions. “Nope, it’s going to be a surprise. The only thing you need to worry about is freeing up your schedule on Friday.” You know this is far from fair, especially since you low-key spoiled his surprise, but you don’t really care.  
  
“But-!”  
  
“Nope!”  
  
“I-!”  
  
“ _Friday, Wrench_ ,” you say in a tone that says no more question will be tolerated. “Now let’s say ‘goodnight’ so I can go get ready for work tomorrow.”  
  
“Fine,” he says as he side eyes the wall next to you. “But the only reason I’m letting this go is because I have to go get my car back from Marcus. Probably need to pick up some stuff for the Magic Box too; I might owe him a new drone.”  
  
“…What?”  
  
He shakes his head. “Not important. Hug me?”  
  
Your expression is still confused, but still you step into the arms that are held out wide. Wrench doesn’t hesitate to pull you in closely, though he’s still mindful of the state of his vest. “‘Night, ____. Thanks for being cool even when things went tits up,” he says when you finally break apart.  
  
You laugh a bit at that. “Goodnight Wrench. And thank you for taking me on a date I’ll never forget.” He gives you a smile that you return and then you’re both heading in opposite directions.  
  
When you make it into your apartment you head right for the bedroom and flop down amongst your sheets, just as you’d done the night before. Daryl follows you in and comes to lay his head on your tummy. You card your fingers over and through his fur as you think about the highlights of the day. You know that you probably have at least a dozen missed calls and texts from your friends, but you don’t want to look at them, not right now. You’re not ready to share this experience with anyone just yet; it only fully belongs to you and Wrench and you want to keep it shiny and new for as long as possible.  
  
“That’s one date down,” you whisper to yourself. “One down, three to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So while I know that most people would never steal a boat with someone [esp. on the first date, but our boy goes 0 to 100], this is still a work of fiction and that means some belief must be suspended. If it seems a little out there for you, I’m sorry, but just go with it, okay? Okay. Lol...
> 
> In other news: I hope that my rendition of Josh is okay. Two of my cousins have Asperger’s so I have some first-hand experience with it, but they’re both very different from Josh [and each other for that matter]. Plus I’ve known them all their lives so they’re pretty comfortable around me and that means that I don't have the best point of reference when it comes to how they react to outside people. In game it’s shown that Josh has no problems speaking to strangers [remember the lady at Swelter Skelter?], so I added that in, but [and again, this is just in my experience] people with Asperger’s sometimes don’t do well with change. My family makes it a point not to introduce new people to my cousins unless we know they’re going to be around for the long haul. Story!you’s meeting with Josh is obviously impromptu, and though Wrench is pretty sure you’ll be sticking around I doubt that he’d have introduced you to Josh just yet. My version of Josh knows that he doesn’t like change so he’s hesitant to get too close [in any manner of speaking; he also doesn’t like strangers touching him], but once he hears how you talk about Wrench he figures that there’s a good chance that you’ll become more of a fixture in his life. I know that this is a long-winded note, and usually I don’t make a habit of defending my characterization, but I just want it to be known that while I may not be handling it in the exact way the game did I am treating it with all due gravity and respect. Having a character with Asperger’s in a game is a big step forward for both communities and may it long continue!
> 
> But, moving on to less weighty topics… While you and I both know that Gary’s Games is just a cover for the hackerspace, I don’t think that Wrench would give out any information that could put his family in harm’s way before knowing that he can trust the other person fully. But that being said I like to believe that Marcus really does love tabletop games and he was screaming internally [or externally for that matter] when he saw the shop lol.
> 
> Also, I place Wrench at 26 going on 27, if you’re wondering. He was 11 during the flaming treehouse of death fiasco.


	4. Stuff and Thangs or Conversations with the Get Fresh Crew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourself, ~~excuse~~ explanation incoming! So I’ve been doing battle with my internet provider for like 3 months at this point. Shit works when it feels like it and then it’s hella slow, but I make it do what it do. But this past week it just said nah and didn’t work. At all. Anyway, long story short, after five visits and two new internet box thingies they assured me that I should be good to go. In all fairness it is working a lot better so let’s hope it holds. New chapters will return to their regularly scheduled day which means a new one will be up tomorrow. Yay!

Telling your friends about your date goes about as well as can be expected.

  
At first they think you’re lying, but disbelief soon turns into shock when they realize that you’re entirely serious. Shock turns into varying degrees of anger because _what in the actual fuck do you mean you stole a boat?!_ But the thing that really gets them is your plans for a second date.

“I just, I want to make sure I got this straight,” Dre says around a mouthful of taco. When the rest of the group tells him to keep his mouth shut until he’s done chewing he makes a face, but does as he’s told. “Alright,” he says after a sip of soda, “so homie takes you out to steal a boat which ends with you getting busted by cops with guns, the ‘roided out owner, _and_ his crew-”

“Don’t forget the part before all that where he fucked up her computer,” Kalie adds in.

“Right, that too. And in return for all that, you’re not only giving him a second date, but you’re taking him to see Tupperware Remix Party. Am I understanding this right?”

You give a shrug. “That’s about the long and short of it, yeah.”

“ _Damn._ Kid must have the maddest of game.” He laughs then, clearly impressed. You snort in amusement, but you don’t argue the point either.

Given the state of Ronnie’s face she doesn’t share Dre’s impression. “Are you sure you want to take him with you to the concert? I mean like, it’d be a lot more fun if you could enjoy it without the pressure of a date, right?” Ah. Of course this about the tickets. Ever since you won the things last month all three of them have been lobbying to be your plus one, though none have been as vocal as Veronica.

“If it were anyone else I might reconsider, but with Wrench it’s just - _easy_ I guess. Whenever I’m with him I’ve never felt any pressure to do or be anything but me.” You know that your words are bordering on earnest in their sincerity, but they hardly elect the knowing smiles you’re currently getting. “ _What?_ ” you ask, voice a mixture of embarrassment and defensiveness.

“Somebody’s sprung,” Kalie says in a sing-song. The other two make noises resembling that of every cartoon spring in the history of animation. They earn two middle fingers for their troubles.

Dre shakes his head as he chuckles. “Like I said: Mad. Game. So what is it that really does it for you? Is it the tats? Or maybe it’s the mask? Is it the mask? And if so do you think he could hook a brother up?”

“It’s going to take more than a few dozen LEDs and some spikes to up your game,” you give back dryly and even he has to laugh at that.

“But on the serious tip, the mask doesn’t bother you at all?” Kalie asks.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Ronnie adds. “Anyone who wears a mask twenty-four seven must have a damn good reason. You have to be at least a little bit curious about what’s going on under there.”

“Well _of course_ I’m curious,” you admit. “It’d be weird if I _weren’t_. But looks aren’t the most important thing to me, you guys know that. Whatever’s underneath the mask shouldn’t be a deal breaker.”

“But what if he’s like got a Quasimodo situation going on under there?” Dre asks. “Would you still be down?”

You give him a look. “‘ _Quasimodo_ ’? Seriously?”

“The man has a point,” Kalie says. “ _Nobody_ knows what Wrench looks like. Well, Marcus might, but that’s it.”

“Are they that close?” Wrench had told you that the man is his best friend so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he’s seen him sans mask, but there’s something about the way she says it that suggests that the circumstances surrounding the reveal were less than ideal.

“They’re pretty close but…” she shakes her head then. “Look, that’s not really my business to share. If you want details ask them about it. But getting back to the point, I get his whole four date deal. Dude wants a little security, nothing wrong with that. And like Ronnie says, he must have a good reason for the mask, but…” She pauses as she collects her thoughts and when she speaks again she seems to be choosing her words very carefully. “Okay, I know that physical appearances aren’t the most important aspect of a relationship unless you’re a garbage human, but it still has _some_ weight, right? You’re already pretty into the dude and if you keep going out with him those feelings are only going to grow. What if, after you’re all attached and shit, you find out that he doesn’t do it for you at all physically? Is that something you’ve even thought about yet? Because it needs to be.”

You start to speak but stop short when you realize that you have no real answer to that. Of course you’ve wondered what Wrench looks like, but it hasn’t been something that you dwell on for too long. There are just so many more interesting things about the man to ponder over that worrying about his looks don’t even make the list. But Kalie’s right, you do need to take this into consideration. You’ve never been a vain person, never looked for perfection of any sort in others, but the physical does hold some baring. Will the growing romantic attraction between you be enough to carry you though if the physical attraction is nonexistent on your end? You know that the others are all waiting for an answer, but they give you time to think and for that you are grateful. You weigh pros against cons, sift through thoughts and emotions until you finally conclude: “It doesn’t matter.” You’re not entirely sure how long the room has been silent, but apparently it’s been long enough for your words to startle the others. The range of expressions range from unsurprised (Kalie) to curious as they all look you over.

“ _Seriously?_ ” Ronnie says the word slowly as she searches your face.

“Seriously,” you say with a nod.

“Even if he is a total Buddhist face?”

Dre looks between you all with furrowed brows before asking, “Ronnie, what the hell is a ‘Buddhist face’?”

“It’s the male version of a butter face? You know, ‘everything _but his face_ ’? I know it’s kinda reaching, but no more than butter for ‘but her’.”

As those two begin to bicker over slant homophones Kalie turns her attention to you. “So you’re pretty much all in then?”

“Yeah, I am.” You laugh a bit then. “You know I’ve never been one for all that love at first sight, soulmate shit, and no, I am not saying I’m in love with the dude,” you amend when you see the look on her face, “but this thing with Wrench just seem so– If I say ‘it just seems right’ would that make me the cheesiest fucker this side of the Bay?”

“Without a doubt,” Dre, seemingly done with his side conversation, confirms.

“Well then, melt my ass down a pour me over some nachos because this shit feels right.”

When the laughter and _boings_ start up this time you can’t help but to join in.

 

-x-x-x-

__  
**“You know what? If you want to talk, talk to Hershel-”**  
  
_“-I’m doing stuff, Lori,_ thangs.”

Hearing Wrench’s disembodied voice saying one of Rick’s more notorious quotes in time with the man himself should probably freak you out, but as it stands you just cock a brow at the phone it’s coming from. “You can’t just call me like a normal person, can you?” you ask the matching carets that stare back at you.

_“Sure, I could. But will I? Unlikely.”_

You laugh a bit before asking, “Do you have a reason for interrupting my binging?”

 _“I do, actually.”_ The picture blurs as he turns the camera towards your laptop. The lid is up and the screen is blessedly hand-free. _“We fixed it!”_

 _“And when he says ‘ we’ he means 'us’!” _That comes from Marcus who enters view after snatching the phone from Wrench. He has his free arm slung around Josh’s shoulders, a thing that the younger man seems totally fine with. _“Hey girl, sup?”_ he says as Josh gives you a little wave.

“Hey guys,” you respond, giving them a wave of your own. “Thanks for fixing my laptop, I really appreciate it.”

 _“Nah, ‘s all good,”_ Marcus says with a smile that’s more of a smirk.

Josh looks away from you then as if he lacks the confidence in prowess of his friend. _“We couldn’t recover some of the files, they were too far gone.”_ It sounds like a simple statement of fact, but the slight sagging of his shoulders make it seem more like a confession.

 _“It was just a few music files,”_ Wrench tells you as he comes to stand behind the other two and it’s then that you realize how much taller than them he is. _“Nothing major. You’re not mad, right ____?”_

You know that the question is asked more for Josh’s sake than anything so you put on your most sincere smile. “Of course not. I can always download whatever was lost again.”

 _“See? It’s all good.”_ Marcus gives the man a squeeze. _“You’re too hard on yourself. You gotta lighten up, kid.”_ To that Josh just nods as a hand comes up to fiddle with whatever it is that’s hanging from his neck. Marcus opens his mouth to speak again, but in the same moment another voice that you don’t recognize lets out one of the loudest, most done sounding groans you’ve ever heard. _“Yo Ratio man, stop your bitchin’ and come see Wrench’s lady,”_ he says as he detangles himself from the other two men. _“You haven’t met yet, right?”_ he asks you as he makes his way towards the man.

You shake your head. “Heard the name a few times yesterday, but no, we haven’t met.”

_“Right, right. Then allow me to introduce-”_

_“Shit, wait man. Let me get this off,”_ he says, though for some reason the latter half of the second sentence is weirdly muffled.

Whatever is happening off camera has Marcus chuckling. _“Really bruh? You hate them that much?”_

 _“Bane of my fuckin’ existence,”_ the voice now known as Ratio’s laments. _Wouldn’t even wear the hoodie if it wasn’t so damn comfortable.”_

 _“Hold on, let me-”_ Amusement colors Marcus’s voice as he makes the offer.

He hands off the camera and the world blurs before Wrench comes into view once more. When you give him a confused look he just shakes his head. _“They’re fixing his hair.”_

_“Well shit! Don’t show her!”_

_“I’m not!”_ Wrench looks behind him, probably searching for Josh, but it seems as if their younger is done with all of this socializing business. _“Can you explain to me how you have dreads, a style that means your hair is pretty much always done, but you still manage to spend more time on it than anything that Sitara ever does ever?”_

_“Perfection takes time my man.”_

That has Wrench side eyeing him making you laugh a bit. He starts to hum some nameless tune for a few seconds before huffing loudly. _“Would you two hurry up? My arm’s getting tired.”_

 _“Then switch to the right one, it’s gotta be stronger than the left.”_ You can practically hear Marcus smirking as he makes the statement. There’s no mistaking the implication behind his words and you bite down hard on the laugher that threatens to escape your throat.

 _“_ _‘No more lonely nights.’”_ Horatio’s attempt to mimic the distinctive British accent of the song’s creator is enough to make you guffaw.

 _“Fuck you guys,”_ Wrench says even as he laughs himself. _“Why do you even know that song?”_

_“One of my exs was obsessed with Paul McCartney. Or still is I guess; it’s not like she’s dead.”_

_“Oh. Good for her. You ready now?”_

_“Yes, I’m– Wait! Okay, I’m ready now.”_

“After all that build up I’d better give one hell of an intro,” you tell them.Of course Wrench rises to the challenge.

He clears his throat as the feed goes dark. _“May I introduce Sir Horatio ‘insert whatever the fuck his middle name is here’ Carlin, the Third, Esquire.”_ The ridiculousness is all delivered in some nondescript, extremely posh accent as the picture is restored.

You’re not sure what to expect, but once you see a man standing arms akimbo and head tilted skywards you know that it could never have been anything else. You laugh as he holds the pose for a few seconds more before turning to face the camera fully. He’s laughing as well and it transforms already handsome features into something striking. _“Hey miss lady,”_ he finally says, _“I’m Horatio, or Ratio, either works. Nice to virtually meet you.”_

“Nice to virtually meet you too,” you say in kind. “I should probably say thanks for the assist during the-” you remember what Wrench said about secure connections and edit your sentence, “for the other day.” You throw in an exaggerated wink just in case he somehow doesn’t catch your drift.

He chuckles again, but it sounds sheepish. He runs a hand over his hair then, most likely undoing whatever work was put into its care just moments before. _“Yeah, umm, about that- I, umm…”_

Marcus drops a hand on the man’s shoulder as he leans against him. _“What my boy here is trying to say is you don’t need to thank him ‘cause it’s pretty much all his fault.”_

Ratio’s eyes go wide at the accusation. _“What?! It’s not-! I didn’t tell him to steal a fuckin’ boat!”_

_“You didn’t tell me not to!”_

_“Yes I did!”_

_“He did,”_ Josh calls out from somewhere in the room. _“His exact words were: ‘That’s a shit idea, Wrench.’”_

 _“Thank you!”_ Horatio says, as he points a finger in the man’s direction.

 _“Yeah, well, you also said that Matty-boy was supposed to be out of town for the weekend,”_ Wrench remarks.

_“He was! It’s not my fault that he came back early.”_

_“Why did he come back? Did we ever find out?”_ Marcus asks as the view changes from their upper halves to legs and a concrete floor. It’s clear that they’ve forgotten about you, wrapped up in their conversation as they are. With most people you would find this to be inexcusably rude, but coming from this group it’s almost endearing. Their exchange is more akin to that of brothers (ones with terrible attention spans) than friends.

You laugh quietly to yourself as you listen to Ratio give his explanation; apparently side piece number three had found out about numbers one and two and for some reason this pissed her off enough to call it quits, a thing that baffles everyone since his marriage was apparently never a point of contention. “Umm, hey guys?” You say this loudly in hopes of catching their attention before they can go off on another tangent. The camera instantly snaps back up as the sound of apologies floods the space. “It’s fine,” you assure them with a laugh, “but if we’re done here I’m gonna get back to my marathon.”

By now Wrench has turned the camera back towards him and the other two come to flank him. _“Binging?”_ Ratio asks.

“Yeah. _The Walking Dead_.”

Wrench laughs then. _“You just missed you part, dude.”_

 _“‘Stuff, Lori, thangs!’”_ the trio says in unison before laughing again.

“Wow,” you say through your own giggles.

Ratio lets out a huff of laughter as he shakes his head. _“Andrew Lincoln’s southern accent is pretty much the best thing I ever heard.”_

 _“Coral!”_ Wrench yells in an impersonation that’s surprisingly spot on.

“I could listen to it all day,” you say in agreement.

 _“Seems like you already were. We should probably leave you to it,”_ Marcus says then. The two shorter men say their goodbyes before leaving, though Marcus leans in to whisper something into Wrench’s ear first. As he does so he braces himself against Wrench’s shoulder and it’s only then that you notice he’s not wearing his vest. Without the bulky blue jean and spikes to add girth the man looks even slimmer than usual. For some reason the sight fills you with the urge to wrap him up in a blanket and feed him a big bowl of your favorite comfort food.

The unheard exchange leaves you curious as to what they’re talking about, but you don’t want to be ‘that person’ so you sit there quietly until they’ve finished. Wrench nods a few times as Marcus speaks before turning his attention back to you. _“Sorry about all that,”_ he says, waving a hand towards where his friends went off to as he heads in the opposite direction. He leans up against something that you can’t make out as he continues to speak. _“Just wanted to let you know that your laptop is officially un-fuckified and that I can get it back to you whenever. But I’ve told you so I’ll stop being a annoying, interrupting jackass now and let you get back to your show.”_

You give a pouty frown to that. “You’re fine, Wrench. It’s not like I’m doing anything important. And really, thanks again for getting my shit fixed –even if you are partly the reason for it being fucked,” you tease.

_“Hey! I’m only taking like two percent of the blame on that one. Who Nudles a hacker?”_

“Apparently I do!” you sass before laughing. “But it’s a mistake that I won’t be making again.”

 _“Good,”_ he says with a nod before flashing you his electronic smile. _“So when can I drop this to you? There’s no rush on my end, but I’m thinking you’ll want it sooner than later.”_

You look at the clock that’s bouncing around your now idle TV and wince a bit when you notice the time. Half past ten isn’t overly late, but it does feel too late to ask him to deliver the computer, if only for really old fashioned reasons. But you really need your laptop for work and the sooner it’s back in your possession the sooner you can finish your latest project. “Could you…” you want to snatch the words back as soon as they’ve formed, but they’re out there now so- “maybe bring it by tonight? I kinda need it for work.” You quickly tack on the last bit when a lone wolf whistle reaches your ears.

You can only assume that Wrench is flipping the unseen culprit off when his free arm juts up and out. _“Can do babe. See you in fifteen?”_ When you nod he gives you another smile before ending the call.

You give a little smile yourself before swapping out your phone for the remote. You’re five minutes into watching when your brain reminds you that you’re still rocking a Wonder Woman onesie. The thing is equal parts comfy and badass, but you’re not quite ready for Wrench to see you in all of your disheveled glory. _He’s got his fourth date material and I’ve got mine_ , you think with a giggle. Some would argue that the jogging pants and tank combo you switch into is hardly a step up, but then again those people probably don’t know about the onesie’s buttflap. You put your hair back into some semblance of order before flopping back down onto the couch.

When the intercom buzzes some odd minutes later you’re surprised to hear that Wrench isn’t alone. His voice is slightly peeved as he announces himself over the sounds of the other guys chatting away. You get a mental picture of him staring blankly through two minuses as the unwanted guest tail him and it has you laughing as you wait for them all to make their way up. A myriad of knocks follow shortly and when you open it a chorus of enthusiastic ‘Hellos’ greet you.

You return the salutations as you step back to allow them entry. “Any reason you brought the entirety of the get fresh crew?” you ask with a giggle.

“To be fair, we didn’t really leave him a choice,” Marcus says. You’re amused to see the man has taken a knee so as to give Daryl some high quality pets.

“They really, _really_ didn’t,” he says as two underscores appear.

“Though to be fair to us,” Ratio starts as he too doles out pets, “we needed food. And since he was already going out…”

Wrench gives him the side eye yet again. “You could’ve ordered something.”

“We all agreed on In-N-Out. In-N-Out doesn’t deliver,” Josh reminds him as he too takes part in the petting of your dog.

“I could’ve picked some up on my way back, you fucktarts!”

In the thirty-plus hours that you’ve been acquainted with Wrench you’ve heard him decline the word ‘fuck’ in many new and interesting ways, but ‘fucktart’? “Wrench, what the fuck is a ‘fucktart’?”

“Oh it’s like a Pop-Tart, but instead of delicious, chemically enhanced fruits the filling is made up of fucking. But not like _fucking_ ‘fucking’, like ‘fucking’ as used for emphasis. So essentially I'm calling them 'fucking Pop-Tarts.'”

“…right.” Really there could be no other definition besides that one.

Ratio groans a bit as he rubs at his stomach. “Dude, you gotta stop talking about food. I am hungry as _shit_.”

“Why didn’t you eat at work man?” Marcus asks. By now the others have gotten their fill of Daryl, but he’s settled completely on the floor with the dog in his lap; the scene doesn’t seem to shock his friends in the least. “I thought Nudle was supposed to have a bomb ass buffet.”

At the mention of the tech company it all clicks. “Your inside source?”

Wrench chuckles a bit as he nods. “Why else would I shift the blame to him?”

“Not. _My._ Fault.” Ratio bites off the words, though when he addresses you his tone is much more agreeable. “Though I do what to apologize to _you_ , ____. For what it’s worth anyway.”

“An _I’m_ going to take that as an admittance of guilt,” Wrench says, a note of triumph in his voice.

“At least I didn’t break her computer.”

“I fixed it!”

“ _We_ fixed it,” Josh and Marcus say in unison.

“ _Fuckin’_ …” An electronic sounding sigh pushes its way out of Wrench as frustration presents itself on his mask as pointed brackets. “Babe, just take this please so I can get these assholes out of here.” As you take the laptop your smile twitches a bit as laughter tries to push its way past your lips. He gives you a quick rundown on the new security suite they put on the thing before telling his friends to “get the fuck up and out.”

“Do you think we should invite her to come eat with us?” Josh wonders aloud.

Pointed brackets mirror each other yet again as Wrench runs both hands over the hood that covers his hair. He shares a look with the other two who just shrug before he turns to you. The X’s are back in place, but his body language seems conflicted. It’s almost as if he wants to ask you to come with, but is afraid of the answer. It’s close to eleven by now and you do have work, but- “I’m down if you are.”

He tilts his head as question marks appear. “You sure…?”

“I can always go for food.” And it’s true. Food is, in your opinion, one of the best things ever.

And that’s how you end up at In-N-Out debating all things nerdy with Wrench and his friends. You expect things to be at least a little bit awkward, but you settle in nicely; the fact that they don’t feel the need to go out of their way to make you feel welcome helps tremendously. Stories are shared as freely as laughter and by the time they drop you back at home more than a few inside jokes have seen their genesis. It’s a quarter to two when you finally tug back on your onesie and fall into bed. The lost hours of sleep will haunt you in the morning, but you can’t bring yourself to mourn them, not when your group of friends has just gained three additions of the most awesome kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much like a fucktart, this chapter is full of filler lol. It just didn’t feel right skipping right to the next part without adding in a conversation with your crew. I mean if I stole a boat and almost got my ass tased I would totes hit up my homies. Plus you had to get your laptop back somehow and then I wanted to introduce Ratio into the story because he’s a buttercup sugar-butt and deserves love too and… well yeah. Sorry if it wasn’t that great [esp. after the wait, blech] but the next chapter’s gonna have you and Wrench being cute so look forward to that!  
> In other news: Yes, I really did just add TWRP to this story lmao. I couldn’t _not_. My boner for them transcends time, space, and fandoms. If you’re not familiar with them follow this links and acquaint yourself with the awesomeness: https://twrp.bandcamp.com/  
>  https://www.youtube.com/user/TWRPtube [You’re welcome. :p]  
> Also, and this may just be me, but I kinda get a Commander Meouch vibe from Wrench. Idk what it is, but like they just remind me of each other low-key. I think their voices may have something to do with it. I know they don’t sound alike, but the guy that voices Wrench is from Canada and the guys from TWRP are too so… Anyways, I’m rambling.  
> And a random sidebar [because this shit isn’t wordy enough *cough*]: how tall do you guys think Wrench is? If we’re going by the height of his voice actor then he’s not super tall, but I always envisioned him being about 6’2. That would put Marcus and Ratio at about 6 feet even and Josh somewhere around 5’9-ish because Josh being the shortest of the guys makes me smile like a loon lol. I canon the Queen Bee at 5’4 and Ray at like 6’3. And I am rambling again goddammit >.< Let me stop…


	5. Cloak and Dagger Bullshit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take a quick moment to thank you all for all the hits, comments, kudos, and bookmarks! This is by far the most popular story I’ve ever written and it’s got me feelin’ some kind of way, ngl :p I’m glad you’re all enjoying my writing and I hope I can continue to deliver the "good good" as BlazeSwift15 would say lol…

Cat hopes she doesn’t looks as out of place as she feels sitting on the bright green park bench. The last time she spent any amount of time at a park people were still calling her Shannon and her parents still acknowledged her existence. She stares unseeing at the pages of _Jane Eyre_ for a moment longer before taking a discreet look around the park; when she doesn’t see the man she’s waiting for she pushes a hard breath through her nose before closing the book altogether. She doesn’t have to check her watch to know he's late.

 _What is the point of setting up a specific time for a meeting if you don’t plan on showing up?_ Her irritation shows itself in the set of her thin lips and the pinching of her eyes, though the latter goes unseen by passersby thanks to a pair of oversized sunglasses. Annoyance tinged with just a touch of nerves has her drumming nails bitten down to the quick against the book’s cloth cover. _Fucking DedSec_ , she thinks bitterly. She never had to do things like this before they decided to shove their dick into her group’s organization and fuck them raw. How a bunch of self-righteous script kiddies managed to not only bring down Blume’s CTO but also Lenni in the process astounds her still.

Thinking of her predecessor leaves her stomach clenching as it always does. Right before the SWAT team kicked in her door Lenni had left Prime_Eight in Cat's ‘mostly adequate’ hands. A text reading _“ur the only one with enough brains to lead these dickbags”_ followed by _“AVENGE ME U FUCKS!!!!1!”_   were her parting words. And since then Cat’s been striving to do as bade. Whether this is coming from loyalty fueled revenge, guilt over not preventing her arrest somehow, or some misguided attempt to garner affection from someone that will never feel that way she’s not entirely sure (though if she’s being honest with herself it’s a mixture of all three).

Restoring Prime_Eight to its former glory has been no easy task. As soon as the law had come for their leader they all went to ground. It was more than a little disconcerting to have everyone on her personal network all go dark at once, but she understood their reasons. For all her big talk Lenni had never actually done time for anything serious; not getting caught's a hallmark for any hacker worth their salt, but it also means that there’s a real possibility that they’ll sing as prettily as any songbird once the heat is on. Nobody could say for sure what Lenni would tell once the reality of spending the foreseeable future in prison settled in. During those months Cat held on to the belief that the woman wouldn’t turn on them, if only because she had nowhere to run to if she did. She hated to doubt Lenni, but she knew how the woman saw the members of Prime_Eight. To her the collective was little more than pawns to be thrown at whatever problem dare present itself to her; it was something they’d all seen first-hand and had chosen to ignore.

It was only when the new year had rolled in and nobody had gotten bagged that members started to put out the first feelers. It had taken time, but Cat followed each little tendril back its source until just over a few dozen people had come back into the fold. Forty hackers didn’t even put them back at thirty percent, but it wasn’t a surprise that majority of the collective weren’t willing to return. Money had always been the main motivator for anyone who decided to join Prime_Eight. _“If you’re into all that justice and defense bullshit, fuck off and join those DickSuck pusses,”_ had pretty much been Lenni’s stance from day one. With their main motivator gone loosely grasped ideals and a “me over them” mentality were the only things that were left to hold the group together and for most that just wasn’t enough.

And that’s why she’s sitting here on a bench in park in a ridiculous dress surrounded by people and nature waiting for some tardy, rich chucklefuck instead of sitting tucked away safely in her hackerspace. The truth is she needs money and she needs it _now_. Without it it'll only be a matter of day before she's lost the group to mutiny or total disbandment.

When she the jogger in the red shorts laps her for the third time she does look at her watch. It’s almost fifteen minutes after their agreed meeting time; she won’t allow it to become twenty. Cat tucks the book under her arm and rises stiffly from the bench. She’s almost at the park’s entrance when someone calls out to her and she’s knows that the deep voice belongs to the man she’s been waiting for. The urge to keep going is strong, but practicality demands that she turn back. It doesn’t, however, dictate how delicately she must handle the situation. “About fuckin’ time,” she all but sneers at the man. Her tone elects a few curious glances from a passing couple, but otherwise goes unnoticed.

If being addressed in such a manner offends him (and given his love for Affliction brand clothing it most certainly _does_ ) the man doesn’t allow it to show. “Catherine?”

“ _Cat_ ,” she corrects. “I never told you it was short for anything.” In truth ‘Cat’ is short for theCatalyst, but that’s on the need to know bases. And this fucker definitely doesn’t need to know. “Lovely day, wouldn't you say?” Nothing could be further from the truth; an early morning rain shower has left it cold, damp, and overcast, but it’s the security question they had agreed on. Of course she knows who he is, there are few in the city that wouldn’t recognize the man, but since he made her wait she’ll make him backflip through every hoop available to her.

He sighs then. “Let’s cut all the cloak and dagger bullshit, _Catherine_.”

“Fine by me, _Mister Cauldwell_.” Though she can’t see his eyes she knows that he’s glaring at her. When his head goes of the swivel she can’t help but laugh. “If you didn’t want anyone to recognize you, you probably should’ve done more than a cap and shades combo. Actually anything would’ve been better. A conspicuously inconspicuous dark hoodie, a fake beard, maybe a pair of those Groucho Marx glasses…”

“Listen here, you little _shit_ -” he growls. Hands form fist seemingly without thinking as he takes a step towards her.

For her part, Cat stands her ground, though she does remove her sunglasses so that he can clearly see the disdain that is etching itself into her features. “Reconsider, Matthew,” she hisses at him. “How would it look if you get into a scrap with a woman who’s half your size in a public park far away from your prissy neighborhood, hmm? There are so many witnesses around- Do you really think your family’s fortune is up to the task of paying all these people off?”

The threat of a scandal does indeed make him reconsider whatever thoughts (or lack thereof) are going through his head. He rolls his shoulders back into something resembling stilted normalcy, though his hands only loosen a little. “Fuckin’ hackers.”

Her lips pull off into a smirk. “You say it like it’s a dirty word.”

“You people are scum, pure and simple.” That earns a hard, humorless ‘ _ha_ ’.

“Now if this isn’t a case of the pot and the kettle. Aren’t _you_ people the ones putting dozens of families on the streets?” When Matt tries to speak again she holds up a hand. “Save your propaganda for those willing to swallow it. In the end it doesn’t really matter how we feel about each other; this is a business transaction, nothing more. I may have majored in biology but even I know that personal feelings have no place in business. So how about we set aside the bullshit and get down to it?”

“Fine by me.” He bites off the sentence, but seems eager enough to get down to the brass tacks.

“Good,” she says, giving him a plastic smile. “Now, how about we walk and talk?” The question is tossed over her shoulder as she starts off without him. A longer gait means that it only takes a couple of strides for him to fall in step with her. With him now beside her she notices that he's limping a bit; something has clearly happened to his right leg and it’s bad enough to make him favor its opposite. The irrelevance of the observation means that it flits through her mind without finding a permanent home there.

“So I’m guessing that all of you hacker types know each other?”

She shrugs. “We know what groups operate in our area, yes, but if you’re talking about a specific person then it’s unlikely. Well unless the person is well known.”

“What if there was something distinctive about them? Like a light up mask?”

The word ‘mask’ instantly grabs Cat’s attention, but she doesn’t allow recognition to show on her face. There are only two hackers dumb enough to wear something so notable and Defalt’s been missing for over two years at this point. “That would make it a bit easier to locate the person.”

“Good because that’s what I need. There’s some masked fuck running around town and I need you to track him down.”

“Okay. Now let’s say I do find this ‘masked fuck’, what do you want me to do with him? Prime_Eight’s a group of hackers, not fixers. If you’re looking for someone to do your dirty work for you, you’re shit out of luck.”

“All I want you to do is find him. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Now Cat doesn’t hold any love for DedSec or any of its members, but there’s something in Matt’s tone that chills her to her core. _I don’t know what Wrench did to piss him off, but it sounds like it’s going to end with more than a few broken ribs._ “And what does that mean?”

Matt stops walking then causing her to stop short. When she turns to look at him she finds a face devoid of any emotion. “That’s not your concern. The only thing you need to worry about is finding the man and collecting your pay.”

“I think you will find that it is _my_ concern, Matthew,” she informs him with squared shoulders. “It became my concern when you involved me and my group. I don’t want anything blowing back on us.” _I also really, really don’t want to be responsible for a man’s death._

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll make sure it doesn’t get back to you.”

“You’ll have to excuse me if that doesn’t exactly comfort me,” she says, tone sardonic. “I don’t know what you have planned, but it doesn’t sound like something I want to be connected to. This meeting is over. Don’t contact Prime_Eight again.” Thinking that the finality of her words will be enough to deter him, Cat moves past him. Her heart has taken up a new residence in her throat and every limb in her body feels as if it's throbbing in time with it. _This was a bad idea. Really bad. There’s not enough money in the world to get me to agree to that shit. I’m going to punch Tag’s tits off for even suggesting this. Why’d she think-_ Her thoughts come to a screeching halt when a large, warm hand clamps around her elbow. It doesn’t yank her, but the increasing pressure around the joint makes her turn back to him herself. “Take your fu-”

“Calm down, _Miss Tate_.” His smile is all points as he watches the color drain from an already pale face.

Cat swallows thickly. “Who?” She knows that her face has already given away too much to play dumb, but years of pretending to be anyone but herself makes the response is a Pavlovian one.

“ _Aww_ , did I catch you off guard, _Shannon_?” He laughs a bit as he allows his hand to fall. “I figured with all the information you no doubt have on me it was only fair if I knew a bit about you. Now grant it, I had to pay a decent amount for this information, but what they discovered?” He lets out a low whistle. “It’s some good shit.”

She raises her chin a bit then. “I know you’re dying to, so why don’t you tell me what you _think_ you know?”

“Well," he starts, rubbing at the scruff that covers a well defined chin, "you were born in Nashville, Tennessee to Dana and Jacob Tate. You all lived there for the first ten years of your life until mommy got a job offer at Invite; the fam has been in Cali ever since. You Tate’s are pretty apple pie; mom and dad are high school sweethearts, younger brother's an all-star football player, but then there’s _you_.” A predatory look darkens Matt's eyes as he looks the woman over. “You tried to be the model daughter and for a while there you pulled it off. From what I’ve seen you’ve never gotten anything below a ‘A-minus’ and you never got into anything your parents wouldn’t approve of. You applied to MIT’s School of Science and got in on the first go around. Majored in bio, like you said, and got a Bachelor's. They say that you were ranked third in your class and at first, I'm not going to lie, I thought you might have went in and changed the records; you know, add that in to help with the job hunt, but it was legit! Who would've guessed? It’s some pretty impressive stuff so, you know, kudos to you. But I got to tell you kid, I think you might have missed your calling.”

She stops the rhythmic clenching of her jaw just long enough to push out a, “Really?”

“Oh yeah. Clearly you were destined to be a starlet. I mean, how else would you have been able to fool them all for so long?” He gives her a look full of faux-pity then. “So how did you come out to them? Did you do it band-aid style and just blurt it out? Or maybe you brought home your girlfriend during a break? _Ahh_ … Oh I _see_ …” He looks over features that are rapidly losing the fight against crumpling. “You didn’t tell them, did you? So how did they find out then? A surprise visit to the campus? Or maybe it was the relationship status on a secret Invite account?” He laughs then. “I cannot tell you how many problems that stupid site has caused in my friends’s relationships.”

“If you have a point,” she bites off, “I would advise you to get to it quickly.”

“Still got some fight in you, even after all that? I can respect that, I really can." And for the first time since he's started his spiel he doesn't seem to be patronizing her. "And since I respect you so much I won’t insult you with petty threats. You know what I’m capable of just as I know what you are capable of. Like you said, it’s all business. All I’m asking you to do is to render me a service and in return I will pay you. But if you prefer to take the hardline… Well... How is that little brother of yours? What do you all call him? ‘J.J.’? Please tell me that isn’t short for ‘Jacob Junior’. It is, isn’t it?”

Though she knows her five feet frame can’t even begin to pose a threat to the mountain of a human in front of her she still takes a step towards him. “I’m only going to say this once: stay away from him.” The mocking laughter that comes has her clenching her teeth.

“Or what, Shannon? _Or what?_   We both know you can’t touch me.” _Wanna bet, you fucking fuck you?_ “And I don’t want to hurt your brother. He seems like a good kid and he’s doing great things for the Bruins; between him and Jostin we might even make it to the playoffs this year. But that’s neither here nor there. If you just do what I ask everybody stays happy and, most importantly, _safe_. UCLA gets to keep one of the best running backs it’s seen in an age, I get my man, and you get rich. It’s an easy choice, as far as I can tell, but the ball’s in your court.”

Cat knows that she's been beaten, but it's the fact that she practically handed him the tools of her defeat that really gets her. Time and time again people had told her to cut all ties to anything she held dear. With her parents it wasn’t hard, they’d gone all _Scarlet Letter_ on her years ago, but J.J. is her heart. Through everything they’ve always been there for one another. She'd never wanted to believe that their relationship could ever put either of them in any danger, but now... Now she's standing here in front of a man who won't hesitate to put an end to them both if it means getting what he wants and she's forced to play his game. Everything in her wants to tell this snake of a man to fuck off into the sunset, but that would mean putting the one person who has ever dared to love her unconditionally in danger. She rubs her fingers over her palms; the sweat there is just slick enough to remind her of blood. _..._ _But better Wrench’s than Jake’s._ “… _Fine_.”

The sinister smile that distorts Matthew’s face hits her like a spear through the heart. As he transfers funds into Prime_Eight’s account the woman known as theCatalyst can’t help but feel as if she’s made a deal with the devil…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that escalated quickly…  
> You lot already know that when I first started writing this story it was meant to be PWP. Then it got some plot and now it’s this. I’ve been planning something like this pretty much from the inception of the whole ‘four date’ idea because much like the good people at Ubi I thrive off of tears lmao. But unlike them I actually want people to have a happy ending so do go thinking that somebody’s gonna get dead. Originally this was going to take place later in the narrative, but the flow felt off so now it’s taking the place of the date that was supposed to occupy chapter five. I feel kinda bad about ending the chapter on this note, but what ya gonna do? But fret not! The date will be coming up next Friday so look forward to that. And with all that being said I’ll bid you all farewell ‘til then; hope the upcoming week is as lovely as you all are <3


	6. “They’re not dates!” or Co-Op Body Fueling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so… Umm… Hi? Yeah, lol. I’m back… Sorta. I’ll spare you all the long, boring, and frankly sad details of this past year of my life—seriously it’s not even worth going into—and get to summarizing. Just know that things are better than they were before in most ways, but less, shall we say _stable_ in others. The lack of stability isn’t anything to write home about, more like inconveniences than anything, but still. They’re enough to affect how frequently I’ll be able to upload, so I don’t like wanna give an update schedule or anything. Just know that this story is back in the works and I’ll be posting chapters as my life permits. For those of you that have stuck around/sent all your love and support, you are so greatly appreciated, like you don’t even know (I’ll be replying to comments and messages, but it might take a bit because my internet situation is still shitty, shittier actually lol). And to those that are new here, welcome! Um, this is getting long so I guess I’ll just wrap it up by saying thanks again and (hopefully) enjoy the new chapter!

**Sunday –Soup and Straws**

“You remember that dock that caught fire a couple of days back?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Well you know how they were being all secretive about exactly how it happened?”

“Yeah, _and_?”

“Apparently it was the work of hackers.”

A scoff then. “…Seriously?”

“Dude, I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried, I’m just not dumb enough.”

“Well did they name a group?”

“Nah. I think they’ve had enough of naming names; never ends well for them.”

“True. Pfft. ‘Hackers’? _Please._ Like they’ve got nothing better to do than going around setting shit on fire.”

“To be fair they do occasionally set shit on fire.”

“Yeah, but only when it’ll have some type of impact. What message would burning a dock down send? ‘Fuck you if you like boats’? Like what?”

You’ve been holding in your laughter up until now, but at that you have to let it out. The two men that you’ve been eavesdropping on are laughing too when they turn to you. “Isn’t that the dumbest shit you’ve ever heard?” the second man asks.

“It’s definitely up there, yeah,” you say with another laugh. If only they knew…

The two men go back to their conversation as you all continue to wait in line. Though this deli isn’t your first choice for lunch break destinations you decided to go with it because it’s right across the street from your job. Hanging with Wrench and his crew the night before was great, but it has made the task of working through the weekend even more unappealing than usual. Only the threat of being unemployed and a potentially unhealthy amount of caffeine had gotten you through the first few hours of the day. By the time your break came around the procured energy had long since faded leaving you barely able to function. Shannon, one of your nicer co-workers, had offered to bring your something back, but her love of quinoa and kale had you passing. So instead you decide to come here in hopes that you’d be able to get in, grab a bite, and get back in time to maybe take a short nap before your shift starts back. The long line that greets you quickly derailed that plan. The thought of going somewhere else crosses your mind, but you figure the time it’ll take you to drive to another restaurant will be longer than just staying here.

 _At least they’re moving fast_ , you think as you watch the employees doling out cups of soup, salads, and sandwiches at a fever pace. After another few minutes of waiting you’re finally able to place your order. You take the little numbered ticket that the lady hands you before finding a table to settle in at. Needing something to do to keep yourself awake you pull up a game on your phone. The level you’re on is harder than you think it should be and it has you focusing every ounce of attention on the tiny screen.

“You should have gone with the purple one; it would have set off a combo.”

“Goddammit Wrench!” Your phone falls to the table, screen side down, with a scary sounding clack as you whip your head towards him. You know that your outburst must have people staring, but you can’t bring yourself to care; dude scared the shit out of you.

“Sorry,” he says hands up in placation as he moves to stand next to you. “I thought you heard me when I came up.”

You give him look as you motion to all of the people in the space. “Why would I have heard you over all of this?”

Two chevrons and a semicolon appear as he considers your words. “True. So can I sit?”

“That depends on if my screen is cracked,” you say, only half teasing. You make a big show of examining your phone for a few seconds then. “Hmm. Everything seems to be in working order. You may sit.”

“Why thank you, kind lady,” he says with laugh as he slides into the seat across from you. “So what’s a girl like you doin’ in a deli like this anyway?”

“Trying to get lunch. I thought I was getting out easy, picking a place so close to work, but apparently I was wrong.”

“Yeah, this is probably the worst time to come here. The lunch rush is a _bitch_.” Chevrons point inwards as he surveys the crowd before flipping back to X’s. “So you work around here then?”

“Yeah, right over there, actually,” you say as you point to the building that sits directly across from you. “It’s weird; I’ve been working there for a while, but I’ve never actually been in here before. I’ve heard a few people say it was good, but I just never tried it.”

“You’ve been missing out then. They make the second best borscht I’ve ever tasted.”

“The first being?”

“Bubbe’s. The recipe she used has been in the family pretty much since the dawn of soups.” You laugh a bit at that. “She gave me the recipe, but for some reason it just doesn’t taste the way it did when she made it. Tara thinks that she didn’t give me the full recipe, but I’d rather believe that I’m just missing the secret ingredient: a grandmother’s love.”

“ _Awww_!” you coo even as you giggle a bit. “Your grandma sounds like such a sweetie.”

“She was,” he agrees. “I wish you could have met her. I know she would have loved you. ‘ _Ah, bubbeleh, you finally found a nice girl!_ ’” he says in an accent that sounds vaguely European, though you’re pretty sure the endearment is Yiddish. When you ask him where she’s from he tells you it’s Poland. “She was born in Warsaw, but her parents immigrated here a few weeks later; good thing too, since the War broke out a couple of months later. They didn't really bring much with them, but her dad did bring his book of family recipes. Mom still has the original copy, but it’s pretty beat up.”

“That’s pretty damn cool, dude. Do you guys still use the recipes?”

“Some of them. Russian peasant food has an entirely different flavor profile than American cuisine, but it’s still tasty.” X’s flip to question marks as he takes in the grin you’re giving him. “…what?”

“Nothing,” you say even as you continue to smile. “You’re just really cute when you’re talking about something you like.”

Two U’s pop up as he scratches at the table’s surface. “Yeah, well…” A woman loudly calling out his name keeps him from having to come up with a more substantial response.

“Saved by the bell,” you say with a smirk. Said smirk falls when you realize– “I’ve been here way longer than you have, how the hell did your food get done before mine? And when did you even order it? I didn’t see you in line.”

“Silly ___, they have an app,” he says with a laugh. “I suggest you download it.”

You stick out your tongue at his retreating form, but download the thing all the same. “What number were they on?” you ask when he returns.

“Two-seventy. What number do you–” you show him the ticket with a bold ‘271’ printed on its front. “Oh, you’re up next then.”

Before he’s even had time to sit properly you’re being called to pick up your food; after stopping to grab some utensils and some extra napkins you head back. “Finally,” you say on a sigh as you settle back in.

“Here’s to hoping it’s worth the wai– What are you– _Are you_ – That’s soup. You’re drinking your soup through a straw.” You watch as the straw that was once full of what you assume to be tomato soup slowly empties as it emerges from the lower half of his mask.

“Well, yeah,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s not like I could eat it with a spoon; trust me, I’ve tried.”

To that you can only say, “Makes sense.”

The pair of you keep up idle chatter as you continue to eat, though you often find yourself distracted by the flow of liquid to lips that remain unseen. There’s something about knowing that his lips are pursed around a straw that makes you want to kiss him just as badly as you did on the rooftop the night you first met; the thought only becomes more and more insistent as the meal wears on. When your phone finally chimes its alert telling you to get your ass back to work you’re suitably frustrated and more than ready to go. But of course Wrench, being the spike-covered gentleman that he is, insists on walking you back to the building.

“So this was fun,” you say as you hook your arm through his. “I would say we should do it again sometime, but we already have plans to.”

“True,” he says, “but we don’t have to wait until Friday to meet up.” His words come out in that same measuring way they did last night and it makes you smile a bit. Though he’s clearly afraid of coming off as clingy, the fact that he wants to spend so much time with you has butterflies fluttering about in you tummy once more.

“Well we could do something tomorrow,” you suggest in a tone similar to his. Despite knowing that he’ll more than likely take you up on the offer you still can’t help but to feel shy about asking. Luckily he’s quick to agree.

“That’d be cool. Anywhere in particular you’d want to go?”

“How about…” you pause, trying to think of a destination; the idea that comes to you has a devilish smirk pulling at your lips. “How about a smoothie bar?”

“Aw hell yeah! I love smoothies. So easy to drink,” he says with a bit of a laugh. “I know a place, it’s super good. I could swing by once you’re off work, or…?”

“After work’s good,” you say as you stop outside of said building’s entrance. “See you at four?”

“Count on it.” He flashes you carets then. “Well I’d better let you get back to work. Don’t want to be the reason you get canned.”

“That _would_ put a damper on our relationship.”

He laughs as he pulls you into a hug. “See ya, babe.”

“Bye Wrench.” He pulls away and after giving you a wave heads back toward the parking lot. You look after him for a moment before going inside—or at least you would have gone inside if Shannon hadn’t been blocking the doorway. “Not cool!” you say as you place a hand over your rapidly beating heart. “How long have you been standing there, you creeper?”

“Long enough to know you have a date tomorrow,” she says with a smirk as she allows you entry. “So, ___ has finally gotten herself a man. Good for you. Though I can’t say he’s anywhere close to being what I thought you’d go for.” It’s a statement, but the look she’s giving you says she’s waiting for some type of response.

“Well I’ve never been one to judge a book by its cover,” you inform her. “Even if it’s festooned in spikes and lights.”

 

 

-x-x-x-

**Monday –Apparently Smoothies Can Also Bring Folk to the Yard…**

You watch as the straw that had disappeared under the spikes and leather of Wrench’s mask reemerges with barely veiled fascination just as you did the day before. You’re not sure why the simple act mesmerizes you so; maybe it’s just because you can’t see his face or maybe it’s jealousy over anything that gets to touch his lips or maybe it’s oral fixation pure and simple. But whatever the reason may be it’s what prompted you to upgrade him from a medium to a large smoothie, on you, of course. Luckily for you he doesn’t seem to notice you staring, or maybe he does and he just doesn’t care. With the mask you honestly can’t even tell if he’s looking at or past you half the time.

“So what’s with you and memes?” Your question is fueled by a need for distraction and genuine curiosity in equal parts.

He hunches up a shoulder. “Don’t know, really. Think it just comes from spending way too much time on the internet. For some reason whenever I’m online my attention span drops to the same level as a goldfish on LSD so I don’t have time for anything with a long setup. With memes the delivery method is short and concise and you know what to expect.”

That actually surprises you. “I would’ve thought that the predictability would be a turn off.”

“Eh things do get really old really fast, but something new always comes along to replace them. That’s the beauty of memes, really. They’re culture based. They show you what people find captivating enough to share and when they die they give you an insight to what society grants longevity. Something new will always come along and replace the weak ones, but the classics?” He pats at the ‘Y U NO’ patch on his vest, “They go down in history. You know, now that I think about it, I think my reasons are more psychological than anything. Memes help me understand humanity in a way. Grant it, it’s in a small and kinda obscure way, but whatever.”

“That’s… a much deeper answer than I thought I’d get.” Who knew all that could be derived from _memes_?

He laughs at that. “It was a much deeper answer than I thought I’d give. And since we’re already in a ‘over analyze things that aren’t that serious’ kind of mood, tell me what your thoughts are on the _Star Wars_ reboot?”

 

 

-x-x-x-

**Tuesday –Gettin’ Some ‘Za With Mister Squiggings**

You aren’t exactly sure what to expect when Wrench invites you out for a late dinner. The gesture in itself isn’t odd, he’s made a habit of getting some form of sustenance with you over the past couple of days, but the venue gives you pause. The pizzeria’s menu offers little in the way of drinkable items which leaves you wondering if the man actually plans on eating. When he ate with you at the deli he’d ordered a straw-friendly cup of soup and smoothies are obviously made for drinking, but pizza? Pasta? Your bafflement only grows when he orders a large half-and-half pizza with more meat than what will ever be consider necessary on his half. Your confusion must show on your face because Wrench laughs.

He waves utensils tightly bound in a napkin at you. “A fork and knife. I have to cut everything up, but it’s totally doable.”

“Ahh…” You sip at your drink as you wait for your meal and Wrench does the same. The desire to watch the carbonated liquid flow upwards and under his mask is there, just as it always is, but you pointedly ignore it. Instead you focus on the way a few stray hairs come down over the top of his mask despite his best efforts before taking in his attire (a deep blue hoodie with the DedSec logo plastered across it in a slightly paler shade of blue and his signature vest) and finally the tattoos that cover up the majority of his exposed arms. The only thing that unifies the ink that permanently stains his skin is the lack of any color.

“You’re pretty tatted up,” you comment as you eye the man on the back of his left hand. “When did you get your first one?”

“Sometime during my sophomore year. It was this one,” he points to the one that looks like a really angry, really toothy ant (alien? monster?). “Got it to piss off Paul.”

“Who?”

“That’s uhh, my… _father_.” The word is said in a way that suggests that he doesn’t use it often. It raises questions, but a bustling restaurant is hardly the place to voice them. “After that I just kinda got addicted. Most of them are pretty random, but this one,” he indicates the one you’d been eying earlier, “is my old imaginary friend. Name’s Mister Squiggings. Don’t ask because I don’t know,” he says with a half-laugh. “I was a weird, shy kid and ol’ Squiggy here was the only thing I wasn’t afraid to talk to. Of course I grew out of that, but it only seemed right to give him a nod. The binary pieces are bits from some of my best scripts; they don’t actually translate to anything on their own which pisses off pretty much everybody. I also got a few over my heart for… well the special women in my life. Ya know mom, Bubbe, the little sis. Gotta add in my niece once Tara finally settles on a name.”

You smile broadly at that. “That’s pretty much the sweetest thing ever.”

“ _Right?_ ” He laughs a little. “Other than that they’re just things that seemed like a good idea at the time, which given the state of my skin doesn’t say much.” He takes another sip of his drink ( _don’t stare, **don’t** stare– Dammit_ ) before speaking again. “Turnabout’s fair play, right? So what about you? Got any ink hidden away somewhere?”

You arch a teasing eyebrow. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” You’re surprised at the sultry tone, but decide to go with it.

He leans forward then, asterisks focused on you. “I like where this is going.”

“Hmm. I’m sure you do,” you give back, voice still husky as you lean in yourself, “but! Pizza’s here!” Your sudden switch from vixen to overly upbeat has him blinking with two large O’s.

“You’re going to be the death of me, I know it, but oh what a way to go.”

And to that you can only laugh.

 

 

-x-x-x-

**Wednesday –But How are These Not Dates Tho???**

When you find yourself sharing a meal with Wrench for the fourth time in as many days you have to ask, “Are these dates?”

Question marks flash. “What? No.”

“Why not?” you ask, genuinely confused. “We’re meeting up, just the two of us–”

“You can do that with–”

“–we’re getting to know each other better–”

“Well–”

“–there’s even food!”

“Yeah, but–”

“Pretty sure that’s everything you need to consider something a date.”

“Yeah, well–”

“And this is the fourth time bro. If we look at it this way, we’ve already been out five times.”

“They’re not dates!” His outburst draws stares from the people around you, but they go ignored.

“Then what do you call them?” you ask, amusement lacing your words.

“It’s just… Fuckin’… I don’t know…” His hands wave about in front of him as he sputters for a moment. Finally he settles on, “Co-op body fueling or some shit.” When you arch an inquiring brow at him he elaborates. “What we’re doing here, it can be done with friends, family, anyone you want to get to know or just spend time with really, but dates… To me a date isn’t just about getting to know the person; it’s about going out and experiencing things with them. It doesn’t matter if it’s something you do all the time or something completely new, it’s about doing it _together_. You make a memory with them that’s all your own, something that you don’t have to share with anyone else but each other. Now, with all of that in mind would you call what we’ve been doing over the last few days actual dates?”

“…I guess not.”

He leans back in his seat, clearly satisfied by his win. “Score one for Gryffindor.”

At the Harry Potter reference your eyes light up. “So you’re House Gryffindor?”

“Ohhh hell yeah!”

“I can see that,” you say with a nod. “I see myself as a _____.”

“Really? Now that’s a bold statement, my dear. I’m going to need you to defend your case.”

 

 

-x-x-x-

**Thursday –Yes, He Did Indeed “Go There”.**

“So Netflix and chill then. Did you really just go there?”

_“I mean it in the most platonic way possible!”_

You arch a brow despite knowing that it will go unseen. “But our attraction to each other isn’t platonic.”

_“Okay then how about in the most **literal** way possible.”_

“Unless you’re planning on cranking your AC all the way up that doesn’t work either.”

_“Nobody likes a smartass, ____.”_

“If that were the case we wouldn’t like each other.”

 _“Logic has no place in this conversation!”_ he all but yells making you grateful that you have him on speaker. _“So are you gonna come over or not?”_

You pause, unsure of what to say. His invitation could very well be harmless enough; he’s already established that these hang out sessions that you’ve been having for the better part of the week are just that, but…

_“If it makes you feel better I promise that we’ll keep both feet on the floor and leave room for Jesus.”_

That makes you laugh. “Well in that case–”

 _“Yes!”_ he whoops before you can even finish your sentence. _“You’re already dressed right? I’ll be over soon.”_ And then he’s hanging up without a proper goodbye.

You giggle a bit, flattered by his eagerness. “Looks like you’ll be riding solo again, Daryl. Forgive me?” For his part the pup just licks at your outstretched hand before turning his attention back to his chew toy. You smile, give his belly a pat, and leave him to it. You make your way to you bedroom to find an outfit a bit more appropriate than the pajamas you’ve been kicking around in all day. After that you go about making the rest of you more ‘I actually plan on interacting with other people today’ and less ‘this is my off day and decorum can go fuck itself’. A text tells you that Wrench has arrived much sooner than you expect leaving you wondering just how close he actually lives to you. You quickly set up things for your dog before grabbing what you need and bounding out the door.

“What is all that?” you ask when you spy at least half a dozen bags marked with the local convenience store’s logo in the backseat of his car.

“Snacks,” he says in a ‘duh’ tone. “You can’t have a proper movie night without snacks.”

“Speaking of which, you have anything in particular in mind to watch?” You aren’t in the mood to watch anything in particular so you’ve opt to leave the decision up to him.

He nods rapidly, his eyes two happy carets. “We’re going through the Devon von Devon series, top to tail.”

“ _Oh my God_ ,” you say with a laugh. “Are you seriously still salty about me liking _Victory at All Costs_ better than _True Believers_?”

“Of course I’m still salty!” His hands fly upwards before slamming back down on the steering wheel. “There is just no way, _no way_ , you can actually believe that. You’re not trolling me are you? Please say yes.”

Your answering smile is smug and wholly unrepentant. “Sorry not sorry, dude.”

“ _Goddammit_.”

The rest of the short car ride is spent with each of you arguing the merits of your chosen movie. You’re so engrossed in the discussion that you barely even register him parking. When you do take note you realize that the industrial style apartments aren’t that far away from where you live. Wrench is out of his door and opening yours before going into the backseat and grabbing the plastic bags. He takes them all in one hand leaving his other arm free to drape over your shoulders.

“That’s all nice and well,” he starts, picking up the conversation where it left off, “but by night’s end I’ll have you singing a different tune.”

Instantly your mind takes his words and turns them into something X-rated. Over the past several days there has been flirting between you two, but nothing overt. Casual flirtation aside hanging with Wrench has been like hanging with one of your crew. This in itself isn’t a bad thing, but it did put more emphasis on the platonic than the romantic (if you discount your newfound love-hate relationship between him and straws). Again, isn’t a bad thing. You know that any relationship has to have a solid foundation based on true friendship if it’s going to have any longevity, but it did almost make you forget that you two are, for all intents and purposes, courting one another. The end goal is a romantic relationship and that inevitably includes sex. You aren’t sure how he’s been holding up, but for the most part you’ve done pretty well with handling your physical urges, but now… Well suddenly the whole Netfilx and chill thing seems a lot less innocent… on your part, at least.

The elevator ride up to his apartment is its own kind of torture. The small space is made even smaller by the three other people that already occupy it; you’d wanted to wait for the next one, but the people inside were so nice and damnably insistent. Apparently they all lived on the same floor as Wrench and knew him well enough for him to feel the need to keep up light conversation. It’s just as well; you hardly need the attention on you, flustered as you are with having him pressed against your back. When the sliding doors open you’re the first one out.

“Claustrophobic?” a woman—what did she say her name was? Lacy? Tracy? Something with an ‘–acy’—asks.

“Something like that.”

You all say your goodbyes before heading towards your respective destinations. Humming the theme of a show whose name escapes you, Wrench leads you to the door at the very end of the hall and keys in. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he says as he pushes the metal slab in with as much flourish as the bags weighing him down will allow. Lights come on seemingly by themselves and you think that he must have his apartment synced to some sort of sensor, but then a child-sized robot rolls towards you.

You step into the room more fully to get a better look at the thing. “Is that… That’s one of those Haum bots, isn’t it?” DecSec-style tags and (of course) studs cover its black surface, but you’re still sure you’re right.

“Oh, how rude of me,” said over the sound of a closing door. “____, this is Wrench Junior, the Third. But you can just call him JT. JT, this is ____. Say hello, JT.”

“ _Hello_ ,” a generic male voice greets as a display similar to Wrench’s gives you a smile.

You give it a little half wave. “Umm, hi?” To Wrench, “Do I even want to know how you got your hands on one of those?”

“Stole it.”

“Of course.”

Seemingly done with you the bot turns its attention back to its master. “ _Nothing new to report._ ”

“At ease, JT,” the man says as he pats his namesake on top of its bulbous head.

With nothing further to offer the bot rolls off. As you watch it you notice that, aside from what must be the bathroom, the apartment is made up of one large room. The back end has clearly been designated as the bedroom area; a few racks covered in various clothing items block off the space, keeping you from seeing much beyond the bed (the bed that you’re going to pretend isn’t there for the rest of this visit, but it does look damn comfortable and _why do you do these things to yourself?!_ ). Luckily for you Wrench chooses then to speak.

“I’m going to make us a pizza and some real popcorn,” he says as he pulls out a large ceramic pot from some cabinet or another.

“Too good for the microwave stuff?”

“Fuck yeah I am. And once you taste this you will be too. Anyway this’ll take a minute, but you can hop on a game or something in the meantime.”

You eye the monster of a TV and the many consoles that sit on a table underneath it. Short of a Virtual Boy he seems to have every gaming system that’s ever come out and his collection of games is just as extensive. “How would I even?” you say as you make a vague hand gesture towards it all.

“JT’ll help you out. Just tell him what system and he’ll set the TV to the right output.”

At the mention of his name the robot rolls back towards you. “ _I am ready to serve._ ”

For some reason you find the thing unsettling, but figure that as long as it doesn’t ask you to ‘assume the position’ you’ll be fine enough. You ask JT to switch to the mini NES and soon the familiar 8-bit twinkling of the _Galaga_ theme fills the space.

“Going old school, I see,” Wrench calls out to you. “Bet ya can’t beat Josh’s score.”

You start to make a smart remark, but then you see the number and gape. “How long did it take him to rack that up?”

“A few hours.”

You let out an impressed whistle before starting in on the game yourself. You know that you won’t be beating Josh’s score, but you’re determined to at least get on the board. As you play the smell of cooking crust and caramelizing cheese makes your stomach growl. You assumed that when Wrench said he was going to make a pizza that it was going to be something from out of a box, but the scents coming out of his kitchen are far too glorious to be premade. You briefly wonder if it’s leftovers, but then you’re being dive-bombed and you have to focus on the pixels in front of you. By the time you reach Stage 15 the sound of popping kernels start up. When he asks you what you want on your popcorn your reply is distracted and followed up promptly by a loud curse.

“ _Nooo_ ,” you whine. “That was my last life.” The high scores come up then and you see that you aren’t even close to making the list. You flop back more fully onto the couch and mumble a few more curses under your breath. You sigh then, long and overly dramatic, as you rise to see what Wrench is up to. An alarm is beeping, but his hands are too full to do anything about it. “Want me to…” you point at the oven.

“Please.”

You grab some oven mitts and remove the pizza. As you look it over you notice that it’s not something he had left from a past meal like you first assumed nor is it perfectly round like something that came from a factory. “When did you have time to make this?”

“Well I made the dough for the crust like a week ago. That’s the biggest part. After that I just had to thaw it –and stop looking at me like that!” He chuckles a bit as he takes in your amused expression. “Look, aside from junk food I hate just about anything that comes out of a box. Plus I like to cook, so, you know…”

As he lets his words trail off you give in to the urge that struck you almost a week prior. “Boyfriend material,” you whisper as you let a hand trail down his arm.

He smiles. “Damn right! Now grab a bowl, we’ve got movies to binge!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter seemed a little bit off. It’s been awhile since I’ve written for this story and it’s taking a bit for me to get back in the groove. And sorry again if it seemed random/disjointed. It was meant to be an insight into who I imagine Wrench to be as a person without trying to shove the information in elsewhere. …Now that I’m thinking about it I really hope that this doesn’t come off as an information dump. I tried to make it as engaging as I could; here’s to hoping I succeed. I could’ve added more detail, but in most cases that would’ve involved giving more detail to the character so that I could have something to bounce off of. But with this being a reader insert I wanted to leave it vague to make it as relatable as possible for you guys so… yeah. Shit’s hard, idk how authors write in this format exclusively, but bless ‘em.  
> Also I must confess again. I’ve—and please don’t hate me for this—but I’ve never actually read any of the _Harry Potter_ books or seen any of the movies. No need to stand, I’ll show myself out lol. I tried to get into them but, it just never happened for me. And trust me, I’ve tried **_a lot_**. A few of my friends are fanatic in their devotion to the series, but they’ve never been able to convert me and thus they’ve given up on trying. They still love me tho, let’s hope you lot do too :p


	7. Date the Second or Simple Statements of Fact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: So, this chapter _kinda_ got away from me. Like this bit right here is 14 pages long and well over 6,500 words. Part of that is due to formatting stuff, but still. I didn’t want to overwhelm y’all with that foolishness so this date’ll be broken up into two parts. But worry not, the other half will be up within the week. And really it all works out for the better since I was struggling with some stuff in the second section; this way I can clean that up without worrying about leaving you guys hanging for too long. But enough blabbing from me. Here, take this chapter from me before I try to edit it again for the umpteenth time…

 

“ _‘You just have to believe, believe in your dreeeaaammmss! Fuuuuccckkkk yeaaaaaahhhh!’_ ”

You commence to rocking out to the amazing instrumentals of TWRP’s ‘ _Believe in Your Dreams_ ’ as much as you can while still safely maneuvering your car. To say that you’re hyped about the pending concert is the understatement of the century; you’ve pretty much been listening to all of their stuff nonstop since this morning. The song is fading out by the time you pull up in front of Wrench’s building and you quickly switch over to something that won’t immediately give your surprise away before shooting off a text letting him know you’ve arrived. No reply comes as Wrench chooses instead to just come out to the car, a thing that ends up scaring the hell out of you as he’s dressed almost completely in black—aside from the metal on his signature vest and the glow of the LEDs of course. His ninja-esque attire renders him almost invisible amongst the dark brick building at his back so when he opens the passenger side door he almost earns himself a fist to the mask.

He chuckles a bit as he takes in your still curled fingers and wide eyes. “Have you always been this jumpy, or do I just bring it out in you?” he snarks as he closes the door behind himself.

“A little bit of column A, a little bit of column B,” you sass, your hand falling back onto the steering wheel with a dull thud.

“Heh. _Sooo…_ Should I even bother about asking where we’re going?”

“ _Nope_ ,” you reply, popping the P. “But you _can_ put this on.”

He looks at the bandana you’ve produced through equal signs that quickly flick back to neutral Xs. “A blindfold, eh? Honestly I’m not sure if I should be worried or turned on right now.”

“Mmm, a little bit of column A, a little bit of column B,” you say again, giggling just a bit despite the heat that rushes into your cheeks.

You two have been teasing each other like this all week, but that doesn’t make you any less, let’s say _sensitive_ to it; if anything you’re more acutely aware of your attraction to Wrench than anything now, especially after last night. You hadn’t done more than stuff your faces and snuggle up together, but there was just something about hanging out with him in such an intimate setting that made you realize just how much you wanted him. Not just for the physical, but for everything else too. He’s brash, but sweet, real to a fault, and has some very destructive tendencies in every since of the phrase, but there’s just something about the clusterfuck that is Wrench that you find irresistibly alluring. The revelation should freak you out a bit—what you have with him is only a week old—but everything with Wrench seems to start at an eleven and go up from there.

For his part, the anarchist’s only reply is a wink as he takes the plumb colored cloth from you and that only makes you blush harder. _We’re not even a full minute into the date and I’m already pumping out enough UST to gag a seasoned porn star—ain’t that just fuckin’ peachy? This is gonna be one long ass bitch of a night._

The masked man continues to secure the now folded cloth over the top half of his mask, none the wiser of your inner musings, _thank fuck_ ; god only knows how much he’d tease-slash-torture you if he did. You watch him for a few seconds longer before another stray (and _damn fuckin’ treacherous_ ) thought tells you that he has rather, _ahem_ , _dexterous_ fingers and that has you quickly dropping your eyes. Thinking about just what those fingers are capable of is a big ol’ _NOPE_ and _what is wrong with me tonight?_ The thought comes more as a demand than an actual question. Maybe it’s his outfit that’s doing it to you—a black and deep slate flannel that accentuates the musculature of deceptively slight arms, black slim fit jeans, a matching beanie, the vest, and a pair of combat boots that are way sexier than any footwear will ever have the right to be—or maybe it’s his scent—no cologne, that’s not even close to being his style, but that of whatever soap he uses and a ridiculously enticing natural musk—or maybe it’s just a ball of built up UST that has reached its critical mass. Whatever the case you find yourself wanting to do more than just kiss him now and _that’s_ dangerous water to be treading given that the man hasn’t even deemed you trustworthy enough to see his face yet.

_Just chill girl_ , you think as you grip the steering wheel hard enough to make your hands ache in protest. _He might be doing the whole ‘sexy af’ thing right now, but **you’re** a big girl. You got this._

So it’s with your resolve firmly in hand that you ask, “All set?” –after a steadying breath, of course… Whether the question is directed at him or yourself you can’t rightly say.

“Yep!” he confirms over the clicking of his seatbelt, voice as high energy as ever. “Blind as a one of those freaky looking cave fish. Having my camera covered is doing all types of fucked up shit to my HUD though, so I’ll be going dark until we get to wherever we’re going; hope you don’t mind.”

“Wait, you can turn that thing off?”

“Well, yeah,” he says as if this should be obvious. “How else do you think I work on it and-or update it?”

“I… Huh, uhh, honestly, I hadn’t thought about it,” you admit as you watch the diffused glow of the display flicker a few times before fading out completely.

“Aww, _so cute_.”

Your eyes go wide at his words as you continue to look at his now unlit mask. It’s not what he says, or even the way he coos it at you, but rather _how he sounds_. Though there’s still a layer of leather and spikes for it to filter though, you’re actually hearing Wrench’s real voice for the first time. You’re surprised to find that it’s not as deep as it sounds though the modulator; there’s also a certain smoothness about it that you’ve never noticed before and it makes you glad that your now wobbly self is already safely seated.

_Okay, so we **maaay** not have this. Like at all._

“Whatever,” you grumble at brain and Wrench both as you finally pull back into traffic. Both seem equally amused by your pouting reply.

Neither of you seem to be in a very talkative mood; you because—well you tell yourself it’s because you don’t want to inadvertently drop any hints, but really you’re just trying to fight against the weirdly high levels of attraction you’re feeling right now—and him because… Well honestly you’re not quite sure why he’s being so quiet. Though you have certainly learned that Wrench is totally comfortable with silence this seems different somehow. The air around him almost feels charged and heavy with words that he can’t quite seem to get out. Part of you wonders if he’s picking up on your vibes (just as part of you hopes he’s feeling just as enamored as you are), but you’re certainly not going to give voice to either notion. Whatever’s on his mind will come out in due time, you’re sure; nothing ever stays trapped in the confines of Wrench’s head for long…

…And then almost five whole minutes pass without him saying anything and that’s a bit more troubling. He’s not humming or fidgeting or anything—he just sits there, elbow somehow finding purchase against what little space there is next to the window, head propped up against his fist—and honestly it’s freaking you out. Especially the stillness; like no living, non-mime being can be _that_ still–  
–and then you hear a little, muffled snore. The laugh that escapes you then is hardly loud, but it’s apparently enough to startle Wrench from his slumber. His hands instantly go up to the bandana as he sits up straight in his seat.

“Dude, chill,” you urge, still laughing.

“Ahhh! What?!” His head whips over towards you. “____? Oh. Right. Date. Yes.”

“You alright, Wrench?” asked once you’ve finally stopped giggling.

He gives a half shrug as he slouches back into a more comfortable position. “Yeah, just tired.”

“I knew I should’ve gone home sooner…”

It was just a little past noon when you’d started your little impromptu movie binging session and well past three in the am when he’d finally dropped you off at home. You’d wanted to kick off sooner if only to avoid sitting through _CyberDriver_ again (Wrench was serious when he said you’d be watching _all_ of the Devon von Devon flicks), but he had assured you that the late hour wouldn’t bother him at all. _“No babe, seriously, it’s fine. I’m a hacker; weird hours are kind of my jam,”_ he’d told you. When you remind him of his caviler words he waves you off.

“Please, our movie sesh isn’t what did it.” When you make a disbelieving noise he persists. “Seriously babe. It was…”

“ _‘Was…’_?” you prompt when he stays silent for a beat too long.

You catch the tapping of his restless fingers against his knee out of the corner of your eye and that’s enough to make you spare him a full-on glance, if only for a second. Without the display you’re pretty much flying blind, but you can still tell that he’s actually bothering with thinking before he speaks and that leaves you faltering just a bit. You’re well aware of the fact that Wrench hardly ever cares to filter himself so to see him do so now is definitely raising some flags. "Hey, if you don’t want to say that’s cool. I’m not gonna go all hardboiled detective on you and put you under the light… Unless of course it involves another woman…” You throw the last bit on in a lame attempt at a joking tease, but–

“ _Well…_ ”

Okay. _That’s_ hardly the reply you were expecting.

“Oh. Huh. Well then…”

“ _Relax_ , babe. I’m just fuckin’ with you. You know that you’re the one that I want, _Oo, Oo, OoOoo_ ,” he sing-songs the familiar tune and earns a snort of laughter for his troubles. “So yeah, after I dropped you off my mom called.”

You turn down the radio in deference to the conversation at hand as you ask, “She okay?”

“Umm…”

You just catch his fingers picking at something—probably one of the many holes in his jeans—out of the corner of your eye; it’s clear that something’s made him a bit uncomfortable, but you’re not sure what. You quickly run over the last few sentences that you’ve exchanged in your head, but nothing there should have elected such a response as far as you can see.

“Sorry,” he says after a beat. “It’s just… That question is a bit more, _complicated_ , than you might think.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it–”

“Nah,” he says it a bit too quickly for it to ever come off as casual, “it’s uhh, it’s okay. I mean you’ll have to hear about it sooner or later so now’s as good a time as any—especially since mom’s pretty stoked about meeting you. But not now!” he rushes to assure you, voice slightly mortified. “We’re not even officially a thing yet, that’d be weird. It’s just that I’ve talked about you a lot and she’s just glad I’m happy, ya know? Mom feels and such. And you really didn’t need to know any of that and why can’t I stop talking?”

You giggle at that, though not unkindly. It’s a weird and rare thing to witness such a flustered Wrench; the sight is a bit amusing, yes, but more flattering than anything. Knowing that he thinks enough of you and what you have together to speak about you to those closest to him makes you want to melt. You’ve certainly been returning the favor on your end; your circle has been forced to listen to you gush about Wrench on more than one occasion.

“Anyway!” he says the word loudly as if that will somehow erase the awkwardness he’s currently feeling, “My mom, she’s uhh… She has a problem with depression. Like ‘go to the doctor on the regular, taking pills’ levels of depression,” he tells you; without the mask’s filter the admission has an added layer of vulnerability that makes your heart ache for him and his mother both. “For the most part she’s good now, but she still has some bad days, or nights as the case usually is—that’s why she called so late. Tara and I both told her to talk to us when it gets to be too much for her to handle and she does, thankfully. Little sis usually deals with it more than I do since they both live in the same city, but with Tara being pregnant she didn’t want to stress her out with it so yeah…” he trails off, fingers picking at his pants still.

“Wrench, I’m– I’m sorry to hear that. But it’s good that she’s able to see the signs and take the steps she needs to keep herself well; not everyone can.” Having dealt with depression yourself throughout the years you know what it’s like to be pulled down into its murky depths. Thankfully during those times you have people around to pull you back up to the surface and help keep you afloat; knowing that she has both of her children to look after her in much the same way makes your heart smile.

He makes a noncommittal sound as his hands find a new way to fidget. The soft sound of blunted nails and calloused fingertips dragging over well-worn denim is barely audible, but apparently your internal satellite has boosted its frequency range to encompass all things Wrench-related tonight.

“So how’d she sound when you got off of the phone with her?”

“Okay as can be expected, but when I talked to her a couple of hours ago she sounded a lot better. I still put Tara and the husband,” he never referred to his sister’s spouse as anything else as far as you know, “on alert though, just to be safe.”

“Well she’s a luck lady to have such a devoted support system,” you say as you toss him a smile. “You guys are some A-plus humans. Go Team Mama Wrench.”

He laughs a bit at that. “I wouldn’t go _that_ far–”

“Why not? You guys are looking out for her, not every family does that,” you inform him, shaking your head a bit at that sad truth. “Most people are just so damned self-centered now days. But it’s nice to know that there are still people out there who care about each other and I’m glad to know you’re one of them. You’re a good man, Wrench, and an even better son.”

“Babe, I am many things, few of them good–”

“ _Wrench…_ I am  _so_ not here for that self-depreciating bullshit right now. You’re a fuckin’ treasure whether you want to believe it or not."

“ _Alright_ ,” he moans (though there's definitely some laughter behind the sound) as he tosses his hands up, conceding the point. “You win this round, woman. I’ll accept your compliment, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“‘Like it’? You’d better fuckin’ _love it_.”

“Yeah, yeah…” He sounds –slightly embarrassed? He may not have the mask to give him away, but Wrench’s voice, you’re finding, is far more expressive than what he probably knows. Or maybe he does know and that’s half the reason for the modulator’s installation.

“So, how ‘bout them Bulls?”

The randomness of the question pulls you away from your musing with a confused, “Huh?”

“Seems like somebody doesn’t recognize an _extremely obvious_ subject change when they hear one,” he says, laughter lacing the words.

“…Oh,” now it’s your turn to sound slightly embarrassed, “right.”

Wrench laughs again, longer and louder than what you appreciate or think is necessary—he really just does not know what the unfiltered sound is doing to you and that’s probably for the better.

“I bet you’re making the cutest face right now and I can’t even see it,” he laments as he rolls his head towards you. “Very uncool, babe.”

“Welcome to my world dude. You’ve got full access to this gem,” one of your hands leaves the wheel long enough to circle your face, a gesture that you instantly realize has gone unseen, “but I still have another two dates to go before I get a peek at what has to be some of the palest skin this side of the Bay.”

He chuckles at that even as his voice takes on a knowing tone. “Ahh, so _that’s_ what this is all about—you’re not worried about keeping your secret, you’re just looking for revenge!”

You snort as you pointedly ignore the playfully accusatory finger that’s being blindly dug into your upper arm. “ _Please_. It’s _all_ about the secret, dude; the revenge is just the cherry on an already delicious and moist cake.”

“ _Mmhmm…_ ” He drags out the sound for a moment, clearly skeptical, before tossing both hands up; the movement is sudden enough to make you jump and thank all that is holy that you’re currently stuck at a light. “Wait!” he says, clearly unaware of the glare you’re giving him, “so does this mean that secrecy tastes like black forest cake?”

You try to hold on to the brief burst of irritation, you really do, but how can you ever really stay mad at such a precious dork?

“Pretty much, yeah,” you respond, voice holding a note of laughter.

“Hmm, but if that’s the case then it’s all a lie. I mean, it has to be if the cake is. So if _that’s_ fake then the secret is fake and _that_ means I can take off this blindfold.”

“I follow your logic, sir, but I do not respect it. _Keep the blindfold on, Wrench_ ,” you warn, voice equal parts chiding and playful.

The hands that had been wrestling with the knotted cloth drop down into his lap with a defeated thud. “Aww, come on babe! Can I take it off? _Pleeease_?”

“Nope.”

“That’s ice cold, girl. The only thing you’re missing is some stunner shades and everyone’s favorite space nerd declaring your badassery to the world.”

“I thought that meme was supposed to be ironic.”

“I follow your logic, madam, but I do not respect it,” he parrots back at you and you’re positive that if he could he’d be throwing you an electronic wink.

Once the shared laughter dies off you both fall back into a comfortable silence. Wrench flicks through the radio stations before finally settling on _Rock the Bridge_. The tail-end of what you think is something by Rancid plays before fading into Nonpoint’s _‘Alive and Kicking’_ which apparently is one of the man’s favorites, if the way he sings it—loud, proud, and perfectly in time –adlibs and all—is any indication. When PUP’s latest single comes on he downgrades to humming under his breath as he taps his fingers on the dash in an approximation of the song’s drumline.

“You know,” he starts, tone conversational as the chorus makes its second round, “there’s no real place for blindfolds outside of the bedroom.”

There’s no inflection in his voice to say if he’s teasing or not—it’s just a simple statement of fact that leaves you biting down hard on your bottom lip. “You’re a kinky motherfucker, aren’t you?” you manage after a second.

“Guess you’ll find out soon enough…” He lets the sentence trail off and you’re positive that if you could see his face it’d be sporting a teasing smirk.  
Or maybe not.  
After all, it’s just a simple statement of fact.

 

-x-x-x-

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“But how?”

“I have my ways.”

“ _Oh?_ ” he purrs. You give him a sly look that quickly falters under the asterisks that stare back at you; how he can manage to make you blush with little more than a nuanced arrangement of pixels you’ll never know.

“Yeah, uhh,” you start as your eyes search for anything other than the face that has leaned into your personal space to focus on, “and by that I mean I won them in a contest at work.”

“And just like that the magic’s gone.” He quickly straightens up as the stars flick back into Xs; he earns playful jab to his arm for his troubles and that gets you a laugh that does the usual stupid things to your insides.

“ _Psssh_ , whatever. We’re here to see _TWRP_ , the magic can never really be gone.”

“So true,” he says as he looks towards the twinkling marquee’s that sits at the opposite end of the block. Digital stars take it all in before switching over to hearts and then blinking into carets. He makes an excited noise before pulling you into a hug. “____, you are literally the best. I mean it. There’s no one better, everyone else go the fuck home.”

_This is fine._ Your eyes are just as wide as that poor dog’s as you repeat the sentence in your head like some sort of mantra _and squeeze him back, dammit, that’s how hugs work._ Despite the fact that Wrench has been fairly tactile from the start you can’t seem to deal with even this much contact, not when you’ve gone full-on schoolgirl with this damned crush. _This is some DEFCON 3 shit, at least,_ you think as he rocks you from side to side, still gushing in your ear. _Sound the alarms and have the troops at the ready—Wrench is touching me. Fuckin’ hell. This would actually have the potential to be funny if it wasn’t so damn sad._

“We should probably get a move on,” you suggest when it seems as if he won’t be letting go of his own accord.

“Right! That line has got to be around the corner by now.” His hand catches yours and you have to remember how to breathe like a normal human and then he’s moving forwards and you have more pressing things to consider like how one does the walking thing. Luckily Wrench’s energy is enough to keep you from focusing on your nerves for too long. He starts singing _‘Rock ‘n’ Roll Best Friends’_ , doing a weird jerky dance as he continues to lead your forward; it’s so silly and, more importantly, _infectious_ , that you can’t help but to join in. The pair of you make the rest of the walk to the Great American Music Hall singing loud enough to probably be run in for disturbing the peace.

When the doors come into view Wrench’s legs try keep moving, but a tug on his hand has you both veering towards them instead. “Whoa, are we cutting the line or something?” he asks as twin question marks flash.

“Sorta,” you smirk. A few taps at your phone and the online VIP pass is being flashed at the guy at the door.

“Now I really do have a badass on my hands,” Wrench says as you breeze past the plebs and enter building. “VIP passes? You do know how to treat a lady.” His clasped hands come up to rest against the side of his head—his touch is missed, but at least it makes it easier to think—and you’re pretty sure that he’s fluttering his eyelashes, but as it stands only carets appear.

“What can I say? The boss-lady when all out.”

“Remind me to send her a basket of exotic butters.”

“She’s vegan.”

“Fine then, a basket of broccoli ‘n’ shit.”

You giggle a bit at that as you maneuver through the Hall’s other VIPs. By now Wrench is practically vibrating with his excitement and you can hardly blame him; TWRP knows how to put on a damn good show. Exclamation points flash and animated hands flail as he tells you about the time he saw them at the Complex last year.

“And even with all of the technical fuckery going on it was still glorious. I came, I listened, I danced, and I came again. Several times, in fact.”

“Sounds messy,” you say with a laugh. “After an experience like that I’m surprised you didn’t already have tickets for this show.”

“Well I tried to score some, but,” he shrugs, “wasn’t fast enough. None of us were. You’d think between the six of us that at least one person would’ve gotten in the queue, but…”

“’Six’?” You knew about the guys and Sitara, but you don’t remember hearing about a sixth member of their core group.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, there’s six of us. Umm, weeee can’t really talk about the last person. Mildly–”

“–Secure channel,” you say in time. “Alright, say no more. But honestly I’m surprised that you didn’t just _hack_ ,” you say the word at a volume meant for his ears only, “your way in. With all the other shenanigans you get into, getting concert tickets shouldn’t be an issue.”

“It wouldn’t be,” he admits, “but it’s not like this is a concert for some rich fuck; TWRP would definitely miss the cash. These guys work their asses off, they deserve every dime.”

Your eyebrows rise at that. “How noble of you.”

And it really is. DedSec has the potential to do a lot of damage in various ways—and more often than not they do—so it’s nice to know that they have some sort of moral code, even if it is far removed from the realm of conventional.

As the two of you continue to chat on you allow your eyes to scan the rest of the room’s inhabitants. There are more than a few employees mixed into the group and a small part of you wonders if one of them is possibly a member of the band. Aside from a quick panning shot on the NSP Instagram, there are few stateside that can say they’ve rightly seen any of the men; you’re not entirely sure if they would risk exposure, but don’t entirely put it pass them to troll their fans in such a manner. _We really wouldn’t know_ , you muse as you continue to look over the mix of people that’s just as eccentric as the group you’ve all come out to see.

“It’s pretty awesome,” you comment, giving voice to a stray thought.

“What is?”

“How something as simple as music can bring so many people together. I mean, look at this group—that’s either a stag party or a group of frat boys, that lady looks like a grade school teacher, and I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that guy’s face on a billboa –Is that Shannon?” It's not that you've never seen any of your co-workers outside of work, but seeing this particular one is a bit odd; she'd made it very clear that few things could get her to leave the comfort of her own home. As you squint at the mousy redhead that seems to be trying her best to become one with the wall at her back you realize that TWRP must be one of those things. “Yup, that’s her.”

“Friend of yours?” Wrench asks as he follows your line of sight.

“A work friend, yeah.” The sound that he makes at that statement has you wondering, “Do you know her too?”

“She ahh, looks a bit familiar,” he admits. “But I can’t place her.”

“Well she does work in IT. Maybe you know her from that world?”

“Maybe…” He gives her one last look through matching equal signs before turning his attention back to you. “So, is your body adequately prepared for the awesomeness that is Tupperware Remix Party?”

“Can one’s body ever truly be prepared for something like this?”

“Eh, not really, but I find that stretching helps. What? It’s a full-body experience,” he tells you when you give him a teasing look.

“Given everything you’ve told me about what happened at the Complex I feel like I should have brought some baby wipes,” you say as you finally see the first group of people being taken away to the back, “especially given what’s gonna happen tonight.”

“Hmm?” He cocks his head to the side like a confused bird—a giant, stupid good looking, punk-inspired bird—but a bird nonetheless.

This is the other part of the surprise—though after finding out that he’d already tried getting tickets himself you aren’t sure if he already knows what was coming next. Along with early entry, the VIP pass also entitles you to a private meeting with the band as well as a poster and a signed copy of their newest CD, _Ladyworld_ (both of which had been delivered to your house a few days ago). At first you’re not sure if you want to tell Wrench or not, but given how spastic he can be you figure it’s better to let him in on the secret now than to have him spazzing all over TWRP later.

“We get to meet the band.” You say it casually enough despite the smirk that pulls at your lips.

For his part Wrench reacts about the way you expect. At first his readout goes blank and then there’s a flurry of symbols and finally a bone-crushing hug. “ _Ohmygodohmygodohmygooooood_!” said at a volume that has to be drawing stares. “This is the best thing. _You’re_ the best thing. I can’t fuckin’– I’m gonna meet TWRP!”

“Hell yeah you are dude!” somebody in the crowd yells back making everyone in the room laugh.

Now that he knows what’s coming, Wrench can’t seem to stop fidgeting. He picks at his nails, his mask, his clothes, _your_ clothes… It’s like watching a puppy that’s overly eager to play, only slightly less cute–

“Do you think they’ll like my mask? I mean if anyone can appreciate a good mask, it’d be those dudes…”

–or infinitely more adorable.

After several more groups come and go it's finally your turn to head to the back. The employee that collects you is a balding thirty-something that wears a nametag that labels him as Stan. After confirming that you’re in possession of a digital badge he begins to lay out a list of rules as he leads you towards your destination. “Alright you two, here’s how it works. No asking for personal information, nobody likes a creep. No asking them to sign weird shit or inappropriate body parts. Again, nobody likes a creep. No asking them to take their masks off, nobody likes an asshole. No generally dickish or annoying behavior. Officially you’re only entitled to one picture with them as a group, but they’ve been ignoring that rule so feel free to follow their lead on that. And finally,” he gives you both pointed looks as he stops outside of a heavy wooden door, “no weird sexual shit. Just– Don’t be that person. You got all that?”

“Yes,” you say as Wrench nods enthusiastically at your side.

Stan gives you both an amused smile then. “Good.” He turns to the door and raps twice to announce your arrival and, when he gets the okay, he opens the door for you.

You’re not entirely sure what to expect as the room's inhabitants finally come into view, but when you see the four spandex-clad men standing side-by-side with their hands on their hips and chins held high you realize that it could have only ever been this.

“Greetings Earth people!” Doctor Sung says, projecting his voice far more than what the space calls for.

Commander Meouch throws up what would be a sideways peace sign if not for his thumb sticking out and gives you a “Suh, dudes?”

Havve Hogan, keeping in character, stares vacantly while Lord Phobos pulls his guitar around to the front and plucks out his approximation of a greeting.

You try to reply, but the awesomeness of the moment has stolen your voice. When you do finally manage to find words they’re directed to the man at your side. “Wrench, it’s too much… _Hold me_.” You look over at him then only to see that his readout has gone blank and he’s standing stock still.

“Well if he won’t I will,” Meouch says, giving you a wink that you can just see through his mask’s eye holes. Apparently that’s all the kick that Wrench needs to reboot.

“My lady just got hit on by Commander Meouch, it’s all over now.”

“All over or all _ogre_?” the man-cat asks. “Sweet mask, by the way. I have no idea how it works, but shit looks _sick_.”

“Hell yeah it does,” the good Doctor adds. “I’m experiencing some serious mask envy right now.”

The men all chat about the finer points of mask design before pictures are snapped. By the time Stan comes to collect you again you’ve got more than enough Insta fodder to make your friends suitably jealous and Wrench has landed himself a commission to make their next batch of masks.

“Well I can cross that one off of my bucket list,” he says as you head back into the lobby.

You hum in agreement. “Dude, they’re so nice. Not that I thought they wouldn’t be, but damn son. Quality intergalactic Canadian beings that are somehow from the future and also the 80s right there– And you’re seriously stretching. Wow.”

Wrench looks up from the toe touch he’s successfully pulling off ( _damn, he’s bendy annnd **nope**_ ) with his version of a smile. “I already told you babe—full-body experience.”

 

-x-x-x-

   
“No guys, we can’t, seriously,” the Doc says with a laugh when the call for a third encore rises up.

“He isn’t kidding,” the bassist adds, voice clearly amused. “We don’t have that much material in our arsenal.”

A disappointed _‘aww’_ resounds throughout the building, but to no avail. The band all gathers at the front of the stage and bids you all farewell before taking a bow and making their exit.

A general clamor of an audience that has just had its collective face melted off rises up from the fans as everyone starts to file out of the Hall. With the place being packed to capacity the going is slow– _too slow_ , you think, slightly annoyed by how little progress you’ve made—and then a pair of arms comes around your waist as a stud-covered body presses itself into your back and you suddenly don’t mind the wait. Your glommed bodies shuffle forward at a pace better fit for a race between fable animals for several long minutes before you’re finally back in the lobby, only to have it continue for a few more before you’re back in the cool embrace of the night.

Wrench is still humming the last song TWRP played— _Prince’s “I Wanna Be Your Lover”_ —making you laugh just a bit. Happy carets flash as he intertwines his fingers with yours and gently swings your joined hands back and forth. “You know,” he starts after a moment more of humming, “Prince wanted to be a lot, maybe _too_ much. I mean he wanted to be her lover, her mother, her siblings–”

“Not to mention wanting to be the one that could make her come running. Or just come in general.”

“Those two I can get, but why her family? And her _immediate family_ at that. Doesn’t that make it pretty fuckin’ weird if you’re like her sister or some shit, but you’re also the one that makes her come?”

“That is a bit… _unsettling…”_ you admit with a wrinkled nose. “But potential incest aside, I take it you had fun?”

Exclamation marks flicker into asterisks before flipping back. “Ooooh _fuck yeah!_ ” He suddenly pivots then so that he’s walking backwards in front of you though he doesn’t let go of your hand. “Babe, _babe_. This is honestly the best date I’ve ever been on ever. Which, okay,” the carets that’d been looking at you switch over to Us now, “admittedly isn’t saying much since I’ve only ever been on like three dates before this, but still– awesome.”

You blush under the hearts that briefly flash at you and honestly this is all just getting a little ridiculous, you have to admit. A collection of blinking emotes and symbols shouldn’t be able to get to you like this and yet here you are, going as red as ever just because a three and a pointed bracket flashed at you for half a second. _It’s not like this is the first time he’s done that_ , you silently remind yourself. _ __Chill. Like seriously._ __ The command doesn’t really have the desired effect—how can it when he’s still looking at you and gently squeezing against fingers that slot so perfectly with his own?—but hey, at least you tried. You tug on his hand then to pull him back to your side and find that it’s much easier to function when he’s not the only thing you can see.

“I’m just glad the lack of thievery and explosions didn’t turn you off,” you tease, glad to have found your footing once more.

“____, I’m pretty sure that there’s _nothing_ you can do that would _ever_ turn me off.” Said with a wink and a nudge of his shoulder.

___Annnd it’s gone again. Welp._ _ _

“Besides, not every date can be all grand larceny and showdowns with ‘roid jockeys,” he continues on, completely unaware of your internal flailing. “Sometimes all you need is a good concert and good company.”

“And good food too,” you add. Aside from the butterflies in your stomach there’s little else occupying the space.

“You wanna grab some body fuel and camp out on a rooftop?”

“Which rooftop?”

“Whichever one has the weakest security in the area,” he says, equal signs already scanning the surrounding buildings.

“I guess it wouldn’t be a date without committing at least one felony.”

“Trespassing is hardly a felony babe. Well, not _usually…”_

You smirk at that even as you arch a brow. “So just a misdemeanor then.”

“Right.” The word is said just a bit too quickly for your liking.

“Why do I get the feeling that the hacking involved’s gonna raise it to a felony?” You look over at a deceptively neutral readout and feel your eyes narrow in suspicion. “It will, won’t it?”

_“…Maaayybeee…”_ He looks at you through question marks as he asks, “But you’re still down, right?”

There’s no hesitation behind the _yes_ you give him, though you feel like there really should be. Like a byte’s worth at the very least. But then he’s pumping his fist and whooping out an enthusiastic _“That’s my girl!”_ and you forget to care about being a nice, law-abiding citizen.

___It’s not like he’d get us caught up twice in as many weeks…  
Right?_ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Prepare your bodies, folks, it’s another wordy af author’s note!  
> Ya know, I would feel bad about all of the random references I put in this story if there weren’t so many in game lol. As you all know it’s been a cool minute since I’ve worked on this story so in an attempt to get back in the groove of things I’ve been watching a walkthrough online and I’ve looked over the DLC and can we just talk about fucking _Pokey_? (…but not like _fucking_ Pokey because no thank you) But like can we? _Can we?_ The Moscow Gambit was just… a weird mission all the way around as far as I can see, but that hug between Marcus and Wrench and that little smile that Marcus gives and like he doesn’t find it weird/make it weird and ahhhh… I get why people ship it lol.  
>  Also I’ve never been to any part of California—though I do have plans to go this summer to visit some family—so if like my brief description of the Great American Music Hall is like wrong and shit, that’s why. I know probably no one cares about that, but these are the things I think about when I should be sleeping at night lmao…


	8. Date the Second Part Deux or Chilly Rooftops, Take Two

“Before we get into the second half of this date we’re gonna need to swing by my place first.”

You pause, hand still lingering on your door’s handle. Curious eyes examine him over the roof of your car before you finally ask, “Why?”

“To swap cars.”

“…Again, _why?_ ”

“ _Because_ ,” he starts as he rests his forearms against the cool metal of the roof and leans forward, “we’re about to do something of questionable legality and I don’t want to do that in your ride.” His worried words pull a smile from you that must leave him feeling some type of way since he lets his head thump against his arms instead of allowing you see his read out. “Come on, I’m trying to be a gentleman here and I’m not entirely sure if I’m doing it right, but just go with it— _please_ ,” he begs from the safety of his impromptu shelter.

A flush has once again stained your cheeks and you find yourself biting at your bottom lip as your eyes drop down to your hands. “Alright, fine,” you finally concede after a few seconds. “But only because you’re so frick-frackin’ cute.”

“Am I actually coasting on my looks right now? Oh _fuck_ yeah!” He laughs loudly as he finally rises to his full height once more. “I’ll have to remember this the next time a cop tries to pull me over. I just might be able to flirt my way out of a ticket.”

“That’s a possibility. And if all else fails you can always go back to your old standby.”

“True,” he agrees. “I feel like a good high speed chase really does everyone involved some good. I don’t have to put up with their shit and they get to practice all those driving skills they learn at the academy; ya know, keep ‘em on their toes and all that.”

“Aww, how civic minded of you, Wrench. You’re a real servant of the people.”

“ _Thank you!_ See, this lady gets it.”

And to that you can only laugh.

 

Once you’ve swapped out your car for Wrench’s stops at a restaurant and a gas station (the former for actual food, the latter for candy and beer—a winning combination) are made in short order. With your bounty resting safely in your lap Wrench begins to hunt for a place with questionable security. Given his hacking skills there are very few buildings with measures in place that will actually prove to be a challenge, but dealing with the people inhabiting said buildings…

“Okay, everybody in this city needs to get a life!” His hands go up as he makes the exclamation leaving his phone to fall heavily against his knee. The pained _ow_ tells you that it hurts about as much as you think it does.

“What about there?” You point at a building a couple of blocks over. “It looks like it’s still under construction,” you comment as you eye the bright blue tarps on the topmost floors billowing in the wind.

“It could work, but…” When Wrench looks over at you he has question marks for eyes. “How do you feel about the _Metal Gear_ series?”

“…What?”

“You know what? Nevermind.”

You give him a look that goes ignored as he starts the car up again. You continue to question him as he drives because _what the hell does MGS have to do with anything?_ but the only reply you get out of him is a wink.

When the building comes into view you expect Wrench to find a space to park, but he goes past it. It confuses you, but you don’t bother asking—it’s not like he’s been forthcoming thus far. It’s only when he reaches the end of the block that he finally stops the car and hops out; when you don’t immediately follow he ducks down long enough to make a jerking motion with his head before shutting the door behind himself. The sounds of locks engaging can just be heard as you come around to join him at the trunk.

“Can you at least give me some type of clue?” you ask as you watch him shove a blanket into a well-worn backpack. He shakes his head as he begins to nestle the beers into the blanket’s folds, of which he only manages to fit in two, but that’s probably for the best since nobody’s said anything about calling a Lyft. The food and candy are placed into another backpack which he unceremoniously hands to you. You side eye the thing—a faded navy blue JanSport with straps that are probably going to have to be adjusted for it to fit properly—but take it anyway. “Well drop the mime act at least; it’s kinda freaking me out low-key.”

He laughs a bit as he shrugs on the other pack. “That’s almost reason enough to keep going.”

“Oh _ha-ha_ ,” you snark even as you heft your own bag. “So are you going to tell me exactly what we’re about to do here? And, more importantly, where the fuck does Snake and his crew come in to it?”

“Well, as per your suggestion, we’re going to sneak into that building.”

“…And?” you ask as you take the hand that is being held out to you. Fingers intertwine once more as the pair of you head back towards said building.

“ _And_ there’s probably going to be guards and robots and shit. Just like in the game.”

“And you think that my skill at said game will magically translate into the real world?”

“It did for me. But then again I spent the better part of several summers exclusively playing games from the franchise so…” He looks at you with question marks once more. “How many hours have you logged, babe?”

“Not nearly enough for this to be a good idea.”

He tilts his head in thought for a few seconds before shrugging. “Eh, we’ll be fine. This place is guarded by Umeni.”

You give him a look. “So they’re only under the protection of one of the nation’s most advanced security agencies. Well in _that_ case…”

“ _Please_. They’re hardly that great. If they were anywhere near competent then we wouldn’t have been able to get away with half the shit we pulled last year.”

It’s true, DedSec had managed to skirt the grasp Umeni’s guards at every turn, though just barely in some cases. The chases that hackers would lead the security corps and cops both on had made the news more than once during those months, but– “I can get behind hacking shit, but taking out actual humans is something else entirely dude.”

“I have capacity and ability enough for both of us babe, trust me.”

The little chuckle he gives is dark and it makes you shiver; whether this is from fear or several types of excitement you can’t fully say— _Probably all of the above_ , you silently amend.

“But,” he continues, “I figured I’d spare you the violence this time around and we’d go in all stealthy like. Trust me, it won’t be nearly as hard as you think it is,” he assures you when he sees the look on your face. “I’m pretty sure being an easily distracted jackass is a requirement to work for them.”

“Right…”

He stops mid-stride to look at you again. “Hey, if you don’t want to do this, that’s totally fine. We can always just go, fuckin’, crash at one of our places and binge again.”

The offer is as alluring as it is sweet, but you really don’t think you’ll be able to make it through another night of snuggling with him right now. Curling up together under a blanket without the worry of potential jail time to keep you wary could lead to all sorts of scenarios that fall firmly under ‘fourth date material’. He’d made it clear from day one that anything physical wouldn’t be happening before then and you respect that and will continue to even if you have to break into a heavily guarded building to make sure that you do so. Besides part of you actually _wants_ to do this. It seems as if the old adage of things being easier the second time around holds true with you and B-and-Es. Though you’d been mildly terrified (and more than a little pissed) during the whole boat incident you kinda enjoyed the rush—well, after you were out of the danger zone, of course. At the time you hadn’t thought that you wanted to do anything like that again, but then he’d suggested this and…

“Nah, let’s do it!” You’re not sure what it is about Wrench that makes you this way but, despite every sensibility and ounce of common sense your body possesses, you like it.

“Hells yeah!”

You’re both probably louder than you should be given what you’re about to do, but neither of you really care as much as you should. Wrench leads you on—humming a poor rendition of _‘Rebel Yell’_ and twirling you about all the while—before stopping within some unseen radius. He pulls out his phone then and begins a hack. As he taps at the screen curiosity gets the better of you and you lean in to see exactly what he’s doing; he notices, of course, and brings the phone down where you can better see. As he narrates the process you find that it’s not as difficult as you’d thought it would be. Pre-maid programs take most of the work out of it, making speed the main concern. Cracking one camera essentially gives him access to all of them and from there he’s able to get into a computer that has information on patrol routes and guard shifts. The fact that he’s able to do all of this with only a _phone_ is more than a little terrifying, but an impending shift change leaves you little time to focus on that.

Wrench slides his phone back into his pocket before leading you over to a conveniently placed stack of cinderblocks. You think that the climb up the things is perilous until you have to hop over the rest of the fence. Even with Wrench holding up his arms it still seems like a terrible idea, but time is of the essence and he’s already down there and it’s not like you can just leave him… You close your eyes as you push off and instantly regret it as the lack of vision makes the nine foot drop feel like fifty. You yelp, albeit quietly, when you collide with studs and a warm body.

“You okay?” You only have time for a nod before he’s pulling you behind a forklift. The bright light above you means that it’s hardly the ideal spot, but it doesn’t matter since you’re moving on in just a few seconds. The lack of guards means that you can move between cover fairly quickly, though there’s still the cameras to consider. The adrenaline pumping through your veins makes time feel just as wibbly-wobbly as The Doctor says it is—it seems so slow whenever someone gets too close while switching cover seems to make it pass at lightning speed. You’re not sure how long it takes you to make it into the building’s interior, but Wrench says that you’ve made good time.

If outside was an MGS level, inside is some straight up Bond shit. Little robots that look like Roombas scurry along a floor covered by an actual roving _laser grid_ —luckily there’s a few feet between you and all that action. Still, you take it all in through wide eyes before turning to Wrench. Seeing those damn O’s rapidly swapping places as he surveys the area isn’t exactly comforting.

“Guess this is why there are no guards _inside_. Good thing I swiped that access key; it’s the only thing keeping those things from detecting us.”

His words make you step in a little closer as you look back out into the room. “So what does this mean? Do we leave or…?”

“No,” he says quickly, confidently, “no this is still doable. It’s just going to take a bit more finesse. Follow me, but _slowly_.”

You expect him to start going forward, but instead he heads for the built-in concrete desk off to the right. He moves so that he’s behind it before slowly sinking down to sit. By the time you’ve done the same he’s already tapping at his phone again. This time he doesn’t take the time to tell you what he’s doing, the code scrolling past on the dimly lit screen taking up too much of his attention. This goes on for minutes that feel like hours and just when your nerves are about to get the better of you he pumps a fist in victory. “I can’t shut down the lasers,” he informs you, “well I _could_ , but it’d draw way too much attention. But! I’ve got the next best thing.”

“And that is?”

“Their IFF codes!” He cackles a laugh. “It’s so weird, they’ve got so much processing power dedicated to monitoring random bullshit that it didn’t even _register_ when I took it.”

Seeing his childlike glee over the matter is amusing, but you still don’t understand what any of this means. “Okay, but what is an IFF code and how does it help?”

“IFF: identification, friend or foe. It has roots in military shit, used to be a radar type-deal I think. Anyway, the 'too long, didn't read' version is this: it tells the lasers and the bots that we belong here. The access code that I was using earlier does the same thing, but it IDed us as a guard and that can lead to issues since said guard probably isn’t supposed to be in here. But _these_ codes make us read as just another robot!”

“You’re having way too much fun with this,” you say even as you laugh yourself.

“Probably, but _babe_ —this is like something out of a wet dream. With this code we’ll be able to crack Umeni’s algorithm and then we’ll really be able to hit those fucks where it hurts.” You’re not entirely sure why he wants to go in so hard on Umeni, but you almost feel sorry for the company.

“But not tonight, right?” Breaking and entering is one thing, but corporate espionage or hacking or whatever law this would fall under isn’t something you’re willing to go down for.

“Of course not,” he says with a shake of his head. “That’s DedSec shit, not date shit. Speaking of which, ready to get back to it?”

You smile as you take the hand that’s presented to you. “Yes, let’s.”

With no other worries besides cameras on the swivel you make it to the access elevator with no problems. You’re both surprised to see that the thing has no security measures in place; apparently they never thought that somebody would ever be able to make it this far without being discovered. Twenty floors later and the pair of you are staring out over the city just as you’d done the night you first met. A sea of twinkling lights replaces the waves that had stretched out before you then, but this sight is just as beautiful in its own way. But unlike the factory’s roof, this one was clearly built for lounging. A few pieces of iron cast patio furniture dot the space, though you can tell there will be a lot more in the future. There’s what looks like the beginnings of a built-in food kiosk off to one side and another tiny structure that is marked with the typical gender signs of a bathroom. All in all it’s going to be a pretty nice setup for future employees, but for tonight it’s yours. Both you and Wrench decide to forego the offered seating options; figuring it best not to be too exposed, you fan the blanket out picnic-style over the sand-tinted concrete behind the bathroom. Meanwhile Wrench attaches some type of device to a ctOS breaker box that’s supposed to do something to the cameras to keep them from detecting you somehow.

While you eat Wrench tells you about the trouble he got into after high school and how it all led him to DedSec, but as the food runs low so do his words until you’re left in a comfortable silence. _This is nice_ , you think as you wrap your arm more firmly around his middle. The positioning is kind of awkward for you, slouched and twisted as you are so that you can rest your head against his chest, but it’s one of the few that you can think of that won’t end with you taking a spike or a stud to the face. But you welcome the discomfort; it grounds you enough that you don’t have to worry about doing something stupid – _like slipping a hand under his layers to feel all of that skin underneath. He’s always so warm, like he’s a humanoid space heater. I wonder, just how would he feel under my fingers? Warm, of course, or maybe hot. Yes, hot. **Definitely** hot. Hot enough to leave him covered in a light sheen of sweat that my fingers could just glide though making his muscles jump under my touch–_

“Is that the Big Dipper?” Not the most subtle or logical thing you’ve ever blurted out, but then again no one’s ever accused you of being smooth. Besides the real goal was to swerve past a chain of thoughts that would only serve to leave you even more frustrated than you already are.

For his part Wrench just gives a little shrug, too used to his own outburst to question yours. “I dunno.”

“I think it is. See that bit there, that’s the handle and that’s the dipper part.” Your free hand traces the shape out as you talk. “Which means that Ursa Major has to be that right there…”

“ _Neeerrrdddd_.”

“Fuck you,” you say even as you laugh. “Did they not do the star lab thingy at your school when you were growing up?”

“You mean that big silver blow-up igloo thing that always smelled vaguely of Lysol and feet?" You nod at the spot-on description. "Yeah, they came through a few times, but I was usually too busy dickin’ around to actually pay attention.”

“Dude! But that was like, the best! I always loved when they came; just a whole period of talking about constellations and their myths…” You let out a little happy hum. “Yup. Good times.”

“Think you remember any more?”

You look up at into Xs and smile. “Yeah, a few.” You pull away from him long enough to lay flat against the blanket and urge him to do the same.

“I should have known this night would end with me on my back one way or another,” he jokes as he settles in next to you.

For the sake of your sanity you let the remark pass with little more than a snort from you before starting in on naming the sky pictures that you can remember… which turns out to be very few. Aside from the obviousness of the Big Dipper it’s much harder to make out the constellations when they’re not being outlined or projected in the way you remember them. How ancient civilizations were not only able to consistently find them but derive such elaborate pictures and stories from them you’ll never know, but you do applaud their imaginations. But once your search for legit clusters ends that’s when things really get fun. You each take turns making up your own constellations complete with backstories ranging from the serious (somehow Wrench manages to come up with a god-myth that you’re pretty sure would make a killer book in less than five minutes) to the down right ridiculous ( _“That’s clearly a unicorn hell-bent on the destruction of all of mankind.”_ ).

“Your turn,” you say once the laughter over your latest tale has puttered out. You prop yourself up on an elbow and look down at the ellipsis that tell you he’s thinking.

“You’re really beautiful. Have I told you that yet?”

Well. That was hardly the reply you were expecting.

The bold honesty of the statement mixed with its suddenness leaves you stammering. “I, uhh… I don’t think so?”

“Well fuck me then. I should’ve said it sooner because you are ____, you really are.”

 _Now where the fuck is **this** coming from???_ you wonder as he moves to mirror your position. You’ve been so focused on your own pining that you’ve hardly given any thought to his and the realization leaves you feeling silly. _Of course_ he likes you as much as you like him. Possibly more in some ways. He is the one that approached you after all. The epiphany leaves you almost giddy as he skates his fingers along your arm. The repetitive trail is like a firebrand, even though the layers of your clothing, and you’re pretty sure that between his touch and the flush on your cheeks that you’ll be little more than a puddle within seconds, but somehow you manage to maintain you molecular integrity. You nibble at the corner of your bottom lip as you continue to take in the periods that are still appearing in intervals and wonder just what it is he’s thinking about, but it’s a fruitless task. How can you even begin to guess when your own mind is a jumble of half-constructed thoughts and emotions?

After a few long seconds his hand stops its motions to gather up your own. Stars blink down at you before switching to tildes, then underscores, before finally settling on Us. “I know I said that we’d have to wait until the fourth date for this type of stuff,” he starts as he tangles his fingers with yours, “but… I don’t think I’ll be able to function if I don’t kiss you tonight.”

 _ **YES**_ , your brain screams. _**YESYESYESYESYES–**_

He lets out half a laugh then and you have to wonder if, by some terrible twist of fate, you’ve actually given voice to your thoughts, but– “Wow, that sounded _way_ less corny in my head.”

 _Oh thank **fuck**._ Aloud, “It wasn’t that bad. It was only like seventy-five percent corn; that’s an acceptable amount for situations like this.”

“Rom-coms too.”

“Those too,” you agree, giggling.

“Right. So,” he starts as the laughter fades out, “how ‘bout it?”

You arch an eyebrow at him as you pull yourself up to sitting. How can he possibly have doubts as to your reply? Does he really not know what type of torture he’s been putting you through all week?

“Straws.”

Question marks appear as he sits up as well. “…What?”

“The motherfuckin’ _straws_ , Wrench. I wanted to kiss you from day one, you know that, but ever since I watched you drink that fuckin’ cup of soup… Do you know what type of torture that is? It’s some cruel and unusual shit, dude. Are you honestly telling me that you didn’t notice?”

“I… Well I mean… I might have _a little_ , but like…”

His sputtering is cute, but you can think of a much better use for his lips and when you tell him as much the readout goes blank.

“I took that some place _terrible_.”

 _You aren’t the only one_ , you think even as you roll your eyes. “Now _that_ is fourth date talk. How about we just start with the kissing?”

“Good idea.”

For some reason you expect him to lean in then—a mental picture of him booping his spiky mouth against your own is almost enough to get you laughing—but instead he rises to his feet. “ _Okay_ ,” you say as he helps you to stand, “this is weird.”

“Better it be weird now, than painful and awkward later.” When you give him a look he seems a little reluctant to elaborate. “Well the way we were sitting would’ve required some awkward bending and leaning and since this night is going _way_ too well, Murphy would’ve had to show up and _that_ would’ve led to someone—most likely _me_ —falling over and then my vest would’ve fuckin’ impaled you and it just wouldn’t be a good time for anyone involved.”

“…True. Wow, you’ve really thought this out.”

He shrugs then, partly as a response and partly to remove his vest. “Well, when you spend the majority of your life trying to minimize the overlap between awkward situations and pretty girls that type of over-analyzing comes natural. Now,” he takes a step that puts him right in your personal bubble, “let’s try this again.”

Wrench’s hands trace your arms again, from shoulder to elbow, before dropping lower to grasp at your waist. The surety that had been behind his touch just seconds ago seems to wane as his readout flicks between question marks, hearts, and asterisks. Clearly he’s unsure about this whole thing for reasons both obvious and not and you find yourself kneading at the firm muscle of his upper arms through the soft material of his shirt in an effort to reassure him; when the lights fade out as he breathes a sigh you can only assume that he’s closed his eyes at the sensation. When stars blink down at you a moment later you spare him a small smile that has him pulling you in closer. His right hand comes up to cup your face then—a calloused thumb strokes the length of your cheek before long fingers trace the outline of your jaw—and you shiver under his touch. You pull in a deep breath as you look at him through heavy lidded eyes and instinctively lean in; Wrench starts to do the same but stops short. You tilt your head a bit at that, eyes going from ‘vixen’ to ‘concerned’ as you look him over, but what you at first perceived to be apprehension is actually realization. The hand that had been stroking your face goes to his own to flip up the bottom half of his mask; you half expect the material to flop back down under the weight of the spikes, but the stiffness of the leather keeps it in place.

Moonlight shines off of skin that is indeed at least a shade lighter than any other bit of him you’ve seen and the flush of his lips stands out against it in sharp contrast. You’re staring, you know you are, but you can’t help it. Right now you’re seeing more of Wrench’s face than most people ever will and it is, in a word, _mesmerizing_. Everything—from the smoothness of his skin to the slight glisten of lips that you’re pretty sure he’s been biting at—has you captivated even more than watching him use those damned straws, _and seriously blink or something girl, you’re freaking him out!_

“You have nice lips.” _Yes, because that’s less creepy. Go you._ You pinch your eyes closed as an embarrassed giggle escapes you. “I’m _so_ good at this.”

Wrench’s replying laugh is close and getting closer as he pulls you into a hug; his breath tickles at your skin creating a trail of prickly pleasure as he nuzzles into you. “Girlfriend material,” he wheezes into your hair, still laughing a bit.

It’s the umpteenth time he’s labeled you as such, but it’s the first time you’re hearing it in his true voice and suddenly it doesn’t seem so blithe. You’re cheeks are heating up again (the amount of blushing you’ve done tonight _can’t_ be healthy) and you’re glad that he can’t currently see the stupid smile that has no doubt taken over your face. When he finally pulls away you’ve thankfully downgraded from ‘utterly smitten’ to just plain mooning, but that soon morphs into confusion when you notice that his display is, as far as you can tell, corrupted. Instead of the glow of the usual characters there’s a nonsensical pattern of lit squares all over the tiny screen.

“Umm, I uh, I think your mask broke.”

He tilts his head a bit and you can tell that the readout wants to flip over to question marks, but instead the pattern just shifts a bit. “Wha– Oh you mean the fracturing? That’s just because of this–” He gestures to his face’s now exposed lower half. “The analysis system can’t get a full read without my entire face and that makes the display flip the fuck out. I can still see though, just in case you’re wondering; the camera’s working just fine.”

“Ahh. Neat.”

“I guess,” he replies, chuckling a bit as his hands find your waist again. “Now correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t there supposed to be some kissing happening?”

“I do believe that was the main objective, yes.”

“So… did you still wanna? I would assume that the answer to that is yes since who _wouldn’t_ want to kiss these ‘nice lips’, but then again I’m not an asshole. Well not an _assumptious_ asshole anyway–”

“Just shut up and kiss me, Wrench.”

“As my lady commands.”

Hands drift down to your hips before pulling you flush against the length of his body. The motion is sudden and pulls a little gasp from you that has him sighing. His right hand comes up to cup you cheek once more before he finally starts to lean in.

_Oh god, this is happening, yes, yes, **please** –_

Your brain is sputtering utter nonsense that only gets more garbled the closer your faces get, but once he finally presses his lips against yours everything goes silent for a long moment. Wrench pulls away a bit only to come back in for another kiss, and then another, and another until he finally just stays put. Your lips work with each other, against each other until they alone are no longer enough. You’re honestly not sure whose tongue ventures out first, but you figure it doesn’t really matter.

 _He’s warm._ The thought is still hazy around the edges, but it’s the first coherent one you’ve had since he started kissing you. _Warm and sweet and perfect. Yes._

The candy and beer have created a sweet tang on his tongue that you find absolutely intoxicating and you need more of it, more of _him_. His kiss leave you moaning while hands that seem just as ADHD as their owner leave you shivering as they caress every damn part of you that they can reach and yours are striving to return the favor. The slope of his shoulders, the gentle firmness of his back, his arms, his neck, his jaw—wherever your hands can reach you touch. When questing fingers tangle in the short hairs at his nape and give a little tug he makes a sound that has you clenching in the best of ways. Another tug produces another deep, almost drunken moan from him and you wonder what other sounds you can pull from him, but then he’s backing you up until your shoulders hits the faux wood paneling of the wall. Suddenly, pressed between him and the unyielding coolness at your back, the mood is less sweet and more heated. Needy. _Demanding._

Hands grip at your hips with enough pressure that you briefly worry about finding a few scattered bruises on the skin come morning, but you quickly decide you don’t really care overly much—how can you when he’s biting and kissing his way down your neck? You sigh his name as your head lolls off to the side to offer up more skin for his attentions.

“Just, try– _oo-ohh_ – No marks. Try not to, please,” you plead after a particularly hard suck at the fluttering pulse point of your neck. While the idea of him laying claim to your skin in such a fashion definitely holds some appeal, you’re not entirely sure you’re ready to deal with all of the teasing it would undoubtedly bring.

Wrench chuckles against your skin, a deliciously dark sound, and the vibrations has warmth blooming low in your stomach. “Alright, I’ll be nice–” he pulls away from the delicate skin and rises back to his full height “ _–just this once._ ”

His lips have pulled off into a smirk that has your breath sticking in your throat and in that moment you’re pretty sure he’s gonna be the death of you one day. _‘But oh what a way to go.’_

He kisses you again as he presses the full length of his lithe frame against yours again and you instantly feel that another— _ahem_ , _‘member’_ has joined the party. He’s definitely packing something extra—a distant thought brings back a vague quote from a book you read in high school; something about ‘nine inches of California white snake’—and it’s almost enough to make you laugh, but then he’s nibbling at your bottom lip and you have to focus on keeping your legs under you. Lips, tongue, teeth, and hands all work together seamlessly with only one goal in mind: to make you come undone. And _fuck_ , but they’re succeeding. Wrench sucks down your moans even as he feeds you his own. Your knees feel as if they’ve been shot to smoke and it’s all you can do to keep from toppling over. The hand that you brace against his shoulder kneads the modest muscle there while the other tangles in the hair at his nape again; the groan you pull from him when your nails rake against his scalp has you rolling into the erection that presses into your middle and that… Well _that_ proves to be too much for either of you. Your head thuds back against the paneling while his falls into the crook between your neck and shoulder.

“Maybe we should…”

“ _Yeah_ ,” he agrees quickly, laughing just a bit. Wrench pulls away from his hiding spot and, after one last peck, pulls away completely. His lips are much redder than they were when this all started and even more plush and the sight is almost enough to make you want to pull him back in again, but you know that would be a very, _very_ bad idea—or a really _good_ one, but you can’t afford to entertain that line of thought for too long.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that staring is rude?”

“Sorry…” Though his rebuke is clearly made in jest you can’t help the abashed look it elects any more than you can stop color from flooding into your face.

“ _Sooo cuuute_ ,” he coos as he pokes at your heated cheeks.

“Whatever,” you snark as you bat at his fingers. As he laughs at that you catch a flash of teeth and it’s weirdly sexy? _Seriously brain?_ Luckily he’s already flipping his mask back into place and thusly saving you from further ridiculous thoughts.

You clean up the evidence of your unauthorized visit in silence aside from some humming from Wrench (you’re pretty sure he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, the precious goof) and a few stray giggles from you (you’re pretty sure that this won’t be stopping until the magic wears off—so no time soon). Once the last bag is packed and hefted and Wrench has restored the ctOS box back to its original state you head back to the elevator hand-in-hand. As the gold-tinted numbers slowly tick back to one you notice that Wrench is fidgeting again and it’s not his usual _‘I’m getting bored, I need to move’_ type fidgeting; this is more stilted, tenser. It’s almost the way he’d been acting in the car before he told you about his mom, though the energy he’s putting out isn’t as heavy, but still–

“Something wrong?”

“Umm…” He looks over at you with pointed brackets, though the expression is analyzing rather than accusing. “I uh, I kinda feel like I should _maaaybe_ apologize for chubbin’ out on you so… sorry for chubbin’ out on you.”

“Wrench, with everything that’s going on between us I’d be pretty damn offended if you didn’t pop a boner.” You can almost feel the tension being drained from the room at your frank admission. You both laugh as happy carets—preceded by exclamation marks followed by hearts and then stars—take up residence on his display.

“Yeah– yeah I guess that’s true. I mean, we were going at it pretty heavy, huh? We were both in it to win it, and I was moaning, sure, but _you_ –”

“ _…Wrench…_ ”

“–were super extra loud. I mean, you were _really_ into it–”

“You’re going to take this some place terrible, aren’t you?”

“–not that I can blame you—I am pretty good with my tongue–”

“Annnd, there it goes. Off into the realm of horribly unsubtle double entendres never to be seen again.”

He tosses his arm around you then and pulls you in close to his side. “Don’t act like you don’t love it.” The noncommittal sound you make leaves him shaking with laughter.

“Bite me, Wrench.”

“Next time babe, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So despite the fact that this chapter had been written like a year ago it still took me a bit to get it right…ish… lol. Of course I had to edit it a bit so that it connected to the story as it stands now, but that was the easy part. It was that _damned kiss_ that really caught me up. Like I rewrote that part 15+ times I shit you not. Still not sure if it’s any good, tbh—it’s been a long while since I’ve written anything even remotely physical—but I’m actually p. happy with how it turned out for the most part.  
>  BTW you can thank Zion. T for this chapter; I seriously couldn’t get it done ‘til I started listening to him. That beautiful motherfucker is smooth af and OO is an amazing album like frfr.
> 
> Pro-tip kiddies: never take a 10+ month hiatus from writing, shit does nothing for you lmao…
> 
> Still trying to hammer out exactly what I want to do with the next chapter… Like the big picture is (mostly) there, but I gotta see how I want to arrange all of the pieces. Normally I have this type of shit all figured out, but I’ve reworked this story to the point where my old outline is more of a suggestion now than anything lmao. Hopefully I’ll have it all worked out within the next few weeks. So until then friends... <3


	9. “She’s up all night to get lucky~” or Attack of the Sheet Sniffers!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fucking off for months at a time seems to be my thing, yeah? I promise I don’t try to be this terrible, it just comes naturally. ~~Excuse~~ Explanation time! Uhh… Life got weird. Plus I had a case of some of the most persistent/hellish writer’s block. This is mostly due to me working pretty much all the time [a thing that won’t be stopping until I’m out of this hellhole of a town], and settling in after moving _again_. So yeah, the current goal is to get _maybe_ a chapter a month out. Hopefully. Ya know, if the gods are kind. There’s the possibility that I may get more done if inspiration strikes, but I’m not holding my breath lol.  
>  But anyways! Shout out to genius_idiot for helping me out so much with this chapter/dealing with spoilers/listening to my rambling/constructing plot fetuses with me/being awesome. Like seriously without this quality human being you guys would probably be waiting another few months for this chapter…  
> Also! Things get a little… _lemony fresh_ in this chapter, if ya know what I’m sayin’. Y’all… y’all know what I’m sayin’, right? If you’re not down to clown with— _ahem_ —“Adult Themes”(TM) for whatever reason umm, steer clear of everything north of the first white space break. But! If you are down there’s something of a peace offering up on my profile. _Life Hacks_ is slated to be a series of one-offs set in this universe and the first installment is **_spicy_**. So yeah, that’s enough I’ll let y’all get to the reading now…

“Wrench you really didn’t have to walk me all the way to my door.”

A spike covered shoulder hunches as he squeezes at your hand. “Yeah, well, maybe I wanted an excuse to stick around. Ya know, at least for a few more minutes.”

Your lips quirk up into a half smirk as you glance over at him. “Sure you weren’t expecting a ‘coffee’ invite?”

“ _Well…_ ”

He’s joking, you’re like ninety percent sure he is, but… Suddenly the idea of curling up under your blankets alone doesn’t hold as much appeal as it did just a few seconds ago. Maybe that’s why you invite him in and maybe—maybe he’s feeling the same way because he agrees with no hesitation.

There are no words traded, you’re both beyond that. Tongues and lips are put to better use as Wrench finds yours in the darkness of your living room. Hands roam, caress, and finally grab as the pair of you weave a destructive path to your bedroom. The sound of hardcovers clattering to the floor echoes through the space as you both slap into a bookcase on the way and the little bit of your mind that isn’t currently being affected by sex fog finds it a bit funny that Wrench has already managed to wreck your apartment despite having only been inside of it for a few minutes.

Eventually you, quite literally, fall into bed together. Limbs tangle as hands find new areas to explore—a warm, tattooed chest; ticklish ribs; the soft mounds of your breast—and without the threat of being caught looming risks are taken and the payoff–

“ _Fuu- **uck**_ ,” he groans out as you scrape your nails from nipple to navel.

–is quite the reward indeed.

Your replying moan is automatic; his unfiltered voice has to be the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard, not to mention addictive, and you need more of it. You work at finding the spots that will make him sigh, at perfecting the amount of pressure that will elect that delicious hitch of breath. All the while he suckles at your pulse point just as he had not even an hour ago, but this time you don’t care about hickeys— _can’t_ —when there’s a clever hand trailing ever downwards. Warm palms had ventured under your top long ago and had been doing all manner of wonderful things in the time since, though he’d been singular in his attentions. At first you mourn the loss of warmth against your chest, but once it becomes clear where he plans to veer… He keeps his movements steady, deliberate, clearly wanting to give you ample time to stop him if he goes too far, but you want this. You want _him_.

“Is this okay?” he asks, lips leaving your neck just long enough to pose the question.

You nod as best you can, but when his fingers don’t stop their dance around the hem of your jeans you realize that it’s going to take something a bit more substantial to get him moving again.

“ _Please_.” The plea is full of need, you know it is, but damn if your pride hasn’t already fallen away. You’ll say damn near anything at this point just to feel his warmth right where you need it most.

You can feel him smiling against your skin and it’s then that you notice that semi-uncomfortable press of plastic and metal against the side of your head isn’t there. _The mask –is it… It’s off?_ You want to turn to him and see what has eluded you for a week now, but it doesn’t seem right somehow. Yes, he’s taken the thing off, but still… Darkness is cloaking you both and you can’t help but to think that’s the only reason he feels comfortable enough to unmask. You really don’t want to ruin the moment with potential awkwardness so instead you clamp your eyes close and focus on the feeling of ridiculously long fingers undoing the button of your pants… then your zipper… and finally, _finally_ …

_**BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!** _

Your eyes snap open, but instead of deep night-cast shadows dancing across your ceiling you find the pale shades of an early winter morning. There’s no warm body lying next to you aside from a dog that, if the huff he lets out is any indication, is as unenthusiastic about your alarm as ever.

“It was a dream. A really _good_ dream,” you have to amend when your crotch gives a throb that has your thighs squeezing together. The motion only serves to highlight the moisture that has built up thanks to imagined ministrations and you have to chuckle a bit even as you drag a hand down your face. How you managed to work yourself up this much without even getting to the main event… It’s mildly ridiculous, you must admit.

Daryl whines as he pushes his nose against your side before hopping off of the bed and heading for the door—clearly he’s not here for the alarm that’s still blaring from where your phone sits on the nightstand. You figure that’s just as well since you really don’t want an audience for what you’re about to do. You put an end to the beeping before leaving the warmth of your bed just long enough to shut the door before flopping back down on top of the sheets. After adjusting yourself to a more comfortable position you toss your left arm over your eyes to bar the assault of steadily growing light while your right hand traces a slow trail from the thick pulse in your neck down to your breast. You try your best to mimic the way dream-Wrench had touched you, but your hands leave a lot to be desired—there are no callouses on your fingertips to rasp across overly-sensitive skin, no large warm hands with fingers long enough to encompass the weight of your breast—but still your questing digits are enough to leave you writhing against your pillows.

 _If Wrench really was here with me, he’d probably be teasing me by now_ , you think as a particularly hard pinch has you pushing up into your own hand. _He’d probably say something stupid like ‘Hey Mikey, I think she likes it!’ Or maaaybeee_ , the word trails sluggishly through your mind as you scrape your thumb nail across the opposite nipple, _he wouldn’t have it in him to tease, not with me moaning like this. **Fuck** , his voice is-is fuckin’ sexy as hell. Especially when he’s moaning—or better yet **growling**. I’m pretty sure I could get off just on his voice alone or even just his laugh, **holy shit–**_

The memory of him chuckling against your neck flashes and you’re positive that yes, yes you could cum just from the sounds he makes and that’s a very good thing since it’s pretty much all you have to go on right now. Yes he had touched you last night and yes it felt amazing, but it wasn’t enough to do more than to leave you flushed. Between your clenching cunt and a commute that requires you to leave the house sometime within the hour you need to get off and fast. There’s no real preamble to the fingers that slide beneath your underwear; you move past your mound and dip into the residual wetness at your entrance. A slick trail is traced upwards to your clit a few times, electing some rather hard breaths on each pass, before you finally focus in on the little bundle of nerves. You allow your mind to wander back to that rooftop, to the way his lips had slanted over yours as he sighed and kissed and licked and _fuck, he really **is** good with his tongue._ A gush of wetness flows over your fingers to soak the thin material as you imagine the warmth of his breath ghosting over you before he dives in _–and he would dive right in, wouldn’t he? Eager to taste me, to feel me against his tongue and **goddammit** but he’d probably have me cumming in a couple of minutes that first time—half that if I’m as worked up as I am now…_

You’re close and your fingers are working at getting you closer still as hazy, half-formed images of a beanie covered head working between your legs serve as spank-fuel, but as your orgasm looms ever nearer even those begin to fade out until you’re floating in a sea of sensations. A few more circles over your clit has starbursts shining behind your lids as you arch _up-up-up_ into fingers that are seemingly moving of their own accord. A steady stream of profanities littered with the odd _yes_ and Wrench’s name pour out of you in a keening cry that has Daryl yipping and pawing at the door. When you come back to yourself you’ll be slightly embarrassed by this—and when you think about the possibility of one of your neighbors having somehow heard as well you’ll be downright mortified—but for now you’re content to float in ecstasy for just a few moments before facing the rest of your day.

 

Thanks to a post-orgasmic haze you’re barely awake during most of your routine. The shower passes without incident and brushing your teeth goes down the way it always does, but once you start in on washing your face…

“Is that a–?” You squint at the deep purple mark on your neck and conclude that yes, that is indeed a hickey. “ _That absolute fuckstick,_ ” you growl as you tilt your head off to the side to get a better look at the bruised skin. There’s just the one _thank god_ , but it’s more than big enough to draw some stares. _How the hell did I not feel that happening? Oh well—guess I’m going full beat face then._ The amount of makeup it’s going to take to cover that sucker up won’t allow for anything less.

“ _‘Alright, I’ll be nice— **just this once.** ’_” You snort. _Fucker had to have known what he’d done, that’s why he laughed!_ “Oh, you’ll get yours Wrench,” you mumble as you rinse away the last of the soap.

As you try to channel your inner makeup guru, you allow your mind to drift as much as you dare. Mostly you’re concerned with just how you’ll exact your revenge against Wrench. Different scenarios play out in your head, but you soon realize that none of them would actually seem like punishment to the anarchist. Hickeys and love-bites? Clearly just foreplay to him. And there’s no doubt in your mind that he’ll wear your attentions as a badge of pride.

_…Still…_

Now that you’ve gotten the idea of marking Wrench up kicking around in your head you can’t _not_ think about it. Biting at that juncture between neck and shoulder hard enough to get him to growling… Sucking at that distinctive _A_ on his neck until color blossoms under your lips… Scratching at his back until the skin rises in protest…

 _Pretty sure this is like some mental masochist shit right here, you should probably stop_ , the last bit of logic in you chides and you’re inclined to agree. No point in working yourself up when you don’t have enough time to work yourself out…

You do your best to push the thoughts away as you go about the rest of your morning, but they still linger around the edges of your mind taunting you with flashes of tattooed skin and large, warm hands and moans and growls and all of the other delicious sounds that you now know he can make. You find yourself stopping more than once whenever a particularly vivid memory flashes— _hands on your hips, a firm body pressed against your own, lips against your neck… perfect_ —and sends a shot of heat straight down into your groin.

Kissing Wrench, you decide as you finally make it out of the house on slightly shaky legs, is proving to be both the best and worst thing you’ve done to date.

-x-x-x-

Your text tone sounds three times in rapid succession just as the clock strikes the hour of your lunch break. Cleary somebody—or a _few_ somebodies as the case turns out to be—has been waiting to ambush you. When you look down at the group chat you’re hardly surprised by the names that greet you.

 **Ronnie:** _Sooooooooo we didn’t hear back from u last night was u up all night for good fun_  
_Or perhaps to get some???_  
**Dre:** _Maybe she was up all night to the sun_  
**K:** _Or possibly up all night to get lucky_

You roll your eyes even as a flush creeps up your neck. “Bite me,” you mumble under your breath despite knowing it’ll go unheard.

_“Next time babe, I promise.”  
You’d taunted him then, telling him not to make promises that he couldn’t make good on and that had led to him pressing you up against the elevator’s wall, but with less than ten floors to go there wasn’t much time for anything other than a few nuzzles to the neck and gropes at your waist…_

You bite hard at your bottom lip as you push a harsh breath though your nose and shove the thought away; the last thing you need is a repeat of this morning’s events. Giving yourself a mental shake you tap out a quick reply to your friends— _Hahaha. None of you are funny_ —before heading off to the bustling deli that has become your go-to this past week. Usually Wrench would be joining you in one form or another, but last night he’d told you that he had some _‘DedSec shit’_ to tend to (you’re pretty sure said ‘shit’ has something to do with that IFF code) and would probably be out of touch for the better part of the day. But that’s just as well, you figure, what with the way you’ve been feeling. You really like Wrench and you don’t want to do something that either of you would end up regretting and killing any chance at a real relationship.

You trade a few more texts with your crew as you wait for your order—though since acquiring the app you know you’ll be called up sooner rather than later. They ask the obvious questions first— _How’d it go?; Did you have fun?; How are you at work when you just had you face melted off last night???_ —before diving into the _good_ shit.

 **K:** _So real talk… How was the afterparty?_

Kalie isn’t one for emojis, but then again she’s never really needed them to convey her mood. You can practically feel the smarmy smirk emanating off of the little black letters. The other two cosign the query with enthusiasm and you heave a sigh even as you smile at the screen. You know whatever reply you give is going to be fuel for their teasing, and while it’s all in good fun you don’t see why you should be the only one on the receiving end. You start typing, stop, then delete knowing that they can see it all. You do this a few more times before finally sending the OK hand.

 **Ronnie:** _Stop playing with my emotions chick and give me the tea!!!_

 _It was fun. We had fun._ you shoot back

 **Dre:** _Boss coming through g2g_

 **K:** _Well I’ve got nothing better to do with my time so…_

 **Ronnie:** _I’m off all weekend and I will have my answers  
Spill it_

Knowing that they’ll only harass you until you give them something good is only about a quarter of what motivates you to tell them that Wrench kissed you—the other seventy-five percent is, of course, that part of you that wants to make high pitched noises and spaz out with your girls. After the initial shock and a flood of cartoonish exclamation points and praise hands (compliments of Veronica) the interrogation begins.

_What! When????!_  
_How even did that work?_  
_Did he take off the mask?_  
_Have u seen his face????_

Of course they want all the details, but you’re not inclined to share just yet. You want to make them sweat, just a little; after all it’s only fair given that they didn’t hesitate to turn the heat up on you. You smirk down at the phone as you tell them that your food is ready—and by some awesome twist of fate your number is actually being called—and that you’ll get back to them once you’re off of work. As you head towards the counter you make sure to put the device on mute so you don’t have to deal with the constant barrage of the texts you know are coming. Once you’ve gotten what you came for the throng of bodies becomes an annoyance that you no longer want or need to put up with and you hurry to head back to your job’s break room–

–or at least you would if someone wasn’t actively blocking your path.

The man’s sudden appearance startles an apology out of you, even though you’re at least eighty-seven percent sure that the resulting collision isn’t your fault. For his part the guy just waves it off.

“It’s all good, really,” he says with a laugh as he places a steadying hand on your elbow. “I was standing a bit too close honestly, but with all this going on–” he gestures to the bustle behind him, “–it’s kinda hard not to.”

You concede the point with a half-smile and a nod. The exchange should end here, you really want it to, but the dude doesn’t move. _Oh fuck me gently, he’s smiling. This is going to turn into a thing, isn’t it? Please don’t make it a thing, my dude–_

“It’s kinda lucky though, in a way–”

_Oh-ho yeah. He’s definitely making a play here. **Fuck.**_

“–I’ve been seeing you around a lot this past week and I’ve really wanted to talk to you, but, well you know how it goes.”

“Umm, look, dude–”

“Darrius,” he corrects.

“Okay then, _Darrius_ , I know how much courage it takes to work up the nerve to go up to a person and try to start a conversation, I really do, but flattering as this all is, I’m not interested. It’s not you—I’m sure you’re probably a nice guy—and it’s not me. I’m already seeing a pretty rad guy so…” You give him another half-smile that really doesn’t do much for either of you. As you’ve been speaking you watch as his grin falters by degrees until he’s just one twitch away from a full-blown frown. It makes you feel slightly terrible, as turning someone down always does; it isn’t particularly fun stomping on hearts and egos. _God, this is almost as bad as watching a puppy take one to the ribs. And to think there are actually people out there who enjoy this shit…_

“Yeah, but uhh… is it… serious?”

All sympathetic thoughts come to a screeching halt then leaving behind only one: _Bitch are **you**?_ You don’t say this aloud, of course—there’s no need to make a scene just yet—but the “Excuse me?” that you bite off is steeped annoyance. “You said that you’ve seen me around, right?” A nod. “Then you must have seen the guy I was with, yes?” Another nod. “If we’re always together whenever you see me what does that tell you?”

His smile is rueful as he rubs at the back of his neck. “That it’s serious.”

The flash of teeth you give him can hardly be called a grin, it’s far too sardonic for that. This time when you walk he gives you all the space you need.

When you finally make it to the break room you find that the place is blessedly empty despite the fresh pot of coffee in the drab black machine. The promise of caffeine that sits just below the rich aroma is a siren song, but the thought of crashing mid-shift like one of those ships of yore keeps you from pouring yourself a mug. But once you’re about halfway through your meal the drowsiness you’ve been fighting off all morning reaches critical mass. While sleep had come easily enough once you’d finally gotten home you hadn’t been able to get enough of it; the three hours that you managed to catch has already been forced to fuel several hours of work. This, you realize, is becoming a running theme in the relationship—god, can you even call it that just yet? _Trying to figure out potential relationship logistics probably isn’t the best idea right now_ , you decide as you snap the lid back on the apparently compostable foam and push it away. Right now you need to rest your eyes and mind both. _Just for a moment_ , you assure yourself as your braced arms cushion your head, though the sleep-slur that tinges the thought says otherwise.

“Rough night?”

The question startles you out of a rather vivid dream involving a post-apocalyptic landscape and sentient plants which is probably for the best since one of said plants was on the verge of murdering a dude. Still it takes you a second to come to yourself and then another to remember where you are and one more after that to figure out who’s talking and what they want. You squint up at the redhead and give her a confused hum before asking, “What year is it?”

Shannon’s laugher comes over the sound of the chair across from you being pulled out. She stirs at her coffee while giving you an appraising once over. “Guess that answers _that_ question. Looks like _someone_ was up all night…”

“I didn’t have to do a walk of shame if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“ _Mmhmm_.” You honestly can’t tell if the sound is meant to be teasing or disbelieving, but knowing Shannon it’s probably a mixture of both. “So, wicked concert last night, am I right?”

“Oh hell yeah!” The yawn that wraps itself around the sentence has the potential to either undercut that statement or prove its point. “That was my first time seeing them live, but won’t be the last because _hot damn_.” While just the thought of the face-melting awesomeness that is TWRP live has given you a much needed shot of adrenaline, you still wilt a bit when you remember that you hadn’t gone over to say hi. “Sorry. For not speaking, I mean. You looked pretty done with the whole ‘being in public’ thing and I didn’t want to add social interaction with a stranger to the mix.” The ‘stranger’ of course being Wrench— _though he did mention that he recognized you…_ You start to ask her about this, but she’s already waving off your apology.

“It’s fine. Like you said, socializing isn’t my bag. Besides, your boy-toy seems like a bit much. For someone like me, I mean. Like, you know how I am. Uh, no offense,” she finally trails off, nubby nails scratching at her mug as if it were the source of all her problems.

 _Huh. Guess he must’ve been mistaken._ If Shannon had met Wrench before you’re sure she would have said something by now; he’s hardly the type to be easily forgotten. Aloud you reassure her with a laughing, “None taken, really. Wrench’s look is pretty–” you pause for a second, trying to think of the right word before realizing that it either doesn’t exist or you haven’t learned it yet— _‘Weird’, ‘crazy’_ , and their ilk don’t really do the man justice since, aside from the mask, his appearance isn’t all that odd—“ _different_ ,” you finally settle on, “but he’s actually really sweet and– What? What’s that look?”

“Nothing,” she says even as a weird little half-smile lifts the corners of her lips. When you quirk an eyebrow at her that clearly calls for a better explanation she shrugs. “It’s just pretty obvious that you like the dude a lot. And if the way he’s waited for you after work—on time, almost every day this past week—is any indication he feels it too, Mister Krabs.”

You snort at the reference. “Yeah, well… Nothing wrong with that.”

“Not at all,” she agrees. “Honestly, I’m low-key jealous. You guys seem to be on that FTL shit, meanwhile I’ve been feeling my girl for _years_ and I still haven’t told her that I _like_ like her.” She rolls her eyes, clearly exasperated. “So what’s the secret then? Do you just crank it up to eleven and break off the knob or what?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re at an _eleven_ –”

“Tell _that_ to the scarf that you’re rockin’ in ninety degree heat.” She eyes the gauzy material that you’d thrown on as an extra buffer between Wrench’s handiwork and the world with a deeper curl of her lips. Your hand instantly goes up to adjust the thing making her give you another one of those annoyingly knowing hums, though this one is laced with amusement. “Yeah, thought you might’ve been trying to cover something up.”

You internally curse the lack of primer and abundance of paranoia that led to you putting the scarf on in the first place before silently going in on the freakishly warm weather. _Not even warm–_ , you amend, _–it’s fuckin’ **hot**. On any other day I would have been fine, but **of course** it had to be ‘unseasonably warm’._ When the weatherman had said the temperature would be record breaking for February he wasn’t lying; the heat index was hovering in the low 70s well before noon. You’re not sure if global warming is to blame or if the universe is just out to get you.

“So like I said—shit’s moving pretty fast.” The sentence itself isn’t terribly annoying, but the way she says it—a mildly judge-y flit, seated in her usual mask of sarcasm and humor—makes you twitch, just a bit.

“ _And?_ ” There’s an edge to your voice that you don’t care to hide. _What is with everybody sticking their nose between the metaphorical sheets today?_ “I’m an adult, Wrench is an adult. Everything that has or has not gone on between us is consensual. _That_ , is where your knowledge and involvement in our business begins and ends.”

Her hands go up in placation then, and it’s clear that she was not expecting such a harsh reply. “Whoa, didn’t mean to step on a nerve, ____. Look, I’m a big sister so I worry. A lot. It’s like hardcoded into my DNA. And we’re friend’s right? Like at least work buddies, and I’ve seen how fast relationships can change. They always start out great and then you move too fast and suddenly things aren’t so great anymore and before you know it your life is something straight out of an old school _Lifetime_ original…”

She pinches her eyes closed against some mental onslaught and you feel a pang of sympathy for the woman. Clearly she, or at least someone close to her, has been through a situation heavy enough to permanently taint her worldview. Seen through this new filter her words suddenly sound less chiding and more concerned. “Look, Shannon, I get it. We are friends, not like ‘BFFs five-ever, let’s get matching tattoos’ friends, but friends. I appreciate you trying to look out for me, but I’m a big girl and more than capable of taking care of myself. But if things with Wrench ever start entering the realm of FUBAR, which I doubt they ever will, but if they do you can get in on the mob action with the rest of my friends. I’ll even let you say ‘I told ya so’.”

“That _is_ one of my favorite things to say…” You both laugh at that. “Well then, if you’re happy, I’m happy. And sorry, really. I shouldn’t be projecting my shit on to you guys.”

You give her a smile then, probably the first real one since dealing with that prick at the deli. “‘You’re fine, Olive.’” The reference, you know, would probably be lost on most people, but Shannon’s the one that introduced you to _The IT Crowd_ , and that happens to be one of her favorite quotes. It makes her laugh, just as you knew it would, and just like that things go back to normal.

Soon enough your alarm sounds telling you that it’s time to head back to your station. A quick check of your messages tells you that your crew is not at all amused with your continued ghosting. You have no doubt that they’ll all be waiting for you back in your apartment—the key that you gave Kalie was supposed to be for emergency use only, but whatever—but that’s still a few hours away. _Hours. Fuck. This is like the day that refuses to end._ Potential crash or not you know that you’re going to need some sort of fuel to make it to the end so you grab a bag of the caffeinated gummies from the bowl by the door and get back to work.

-x-x-x-

_That… could’ve went better._  
The thought comes wry as Shannon makes her way back to the little hole in the wall that serves as her office. Most people would complain about the space—it’s small, cramped, and dim—but to her that spells safety. She’s spent most of her time since graduating in spaces like this, though with admittedly more room than what the three-by-five office allots. But beggars can’t be choosers, and while she isn’t as destitute as she was just months ago she’s still far from being in a position to make demands—though a hell of a lot is being asked of her.

In the few months since she’s had to begin swapping between her hacker persona and her ‘true form’, if you will, Shannon Tate has been floundering. It would be easier if she could just stay in one role or the other, but with Lenni gone and Prime_Eight under her control she has to be both. So by day it’s Shannon—a mild mannered, if a bit sarcastic, professional computer geek with a love of all things organic and vintage—and by night it’s theCatalyst, hacker-girl extraordinaire. She’s been doing the best she can with a rather shitty hand so far, but now…

_Taking the Cauldwell job was supposed to elevate some of this fuckin’ pressure. Line our pockets and buy me a little breathing room while I figure out our next move, but **oh nooo**. He just had to ask me to kidnap that walking pile of anarchy and destruction. And said pile just has to be dating one of the few people in this damn building that I actually like. Fuck my fucking life._

While Prime isn’t above getting its hands dirty, there are certain lines they—or at least _she_ —isn’t willing to cross. Ransom of actual living beings is… _mostly_ … frowned up, but murder-for-hire is definitely out. Sure they‘re right dicks pretty much all the time, and yeah, people’s faces do occasionally get beaten into pulpy messes when the situation calls for it, but never once has anyone died by a members’ hand… that she knows of anyway… The collective _has_ drawn in quite a few unsavory characters over the years and Lenni wasn’t all that big on turning away talent (and that’s saying nothing about her ‘results at all costs’ mentality), but it’s all neither here nor there she supposes. Cauldwell has her, and by proxy Prime, over a barrel and if it’s Fixers he wants, it’s Fixers he’ll get. At least he’s willing to do the dirtiest part of the work himself—a small comfort, but she’ll cling to whatever boon she can get her clammy, pale hands on at this point.

The conversation she had with Matthew a week ago now plays on loop in her head as she tries to tend to her day job. The knowledge that he holds, the threats—they hound her just as heavily now as they did then. _If it wasn’t for J.J.—no if it wasn’t for **me** and my incessant need to hold on to him—none of us would be in this mess. He’d be safe and I’d be alone, but it’d be worth it._ The text that Cauldwell had sent her couple of days ago—how he managed to not only get her number, but actually get a text through to her is still a mystery ( _A trader in the group, maybe? Just one more damned thing to worry about_ )—comes to mind then. The picture would seem innocent enough to anyone who didn’t know what they were looking at, but the image of Matthew dwarfing even her brother’s considerable height makes her stomach clench. There’s nothing untoward in their posing, no glares or smirks. He’s laughing and Jake is beaming from where he’s standing sandwiched between the older man and his wife; the setting isn’t a completely public one, being somewhere on UCLA’s campus—most likely near its gym given her brother’s apparel and slightly disheveled state. To anyone else it would look like two fans snapping a pic with their favorite college running back, but she sees it for what it really is: a threat. A subtle reminder that he can get to her little brother anywhere and at any time. She knows without a shadow of a doubt that Matthew Cauldwell will not hesitate to make Jacob disappear if she doesn’t give him what he wants.

Knowing that her thoughts are now too clouded to focus on her work, she stops toying with the line of code—part of an algorithm that will shore up their firewalls, while leaving her a backdoor, of course—and gives her attention to more pressing matters. _Things would be easier if my darling little co-worker wasn’t involved_ , she thinks as she pulls her personal laptop from its case. The woman has been practically glued to Wrench’s hip for the last week and god only knows why. She’d sent Darrius, or HisRoyalFreshness as most Prime members knew him, in to test the waters, but that proved to be an exercise in futility despite his looks and charms (Shannon may be a giant fan of tits, but even she can admit that the guy’s damn fine). The man didn’t give her too many details, choosing only instead to say the woman’s _‘loyal af’_ and that she’d shut him down _‘hella hard yo’_. The result was both surprising and not. When she’d spoken to the woman just minutes ago it was clear that she was beyond taken with Wrench.

Cat—because she’s fully in ‘hacker mode’ now—can’t even begin to guess what she sees in the anarchist. His looks? It’s a possibility, she supposes, but doubtful given that the man seems to hide behind that mask 24/7. _But then again he did give her a hickey, so… She’s at least seen part of it. Even so I’m guessing it’s got to be at least eighty-seven percent personality, which is weird as **fuck**. Wrench is all sledgehammers and fists and explosions and dick jokes as far as I can tell, but hell if she’s into it she’s into it. Not like I have any room to judge anyways. My ex was a psycho control freak that almost killed me and then there’s Lenni who never even saw me as ‘casual fuck’ material…_ The melancholy that always shadows such thoughts is quickly shaken off as she sends out one simple message to her collective.

 **theCatalyst:** _Take him, ASAP._ Then, just to reiterate what she’s already told them time and time again, _But be **discreet** , dammit._

She quickly hits _send_ before her conscious can kick in. Within seconds a dozen responses in the affirmative pop up and she knows it’s only a matter of time before Wrench is captured and delivered into Cauldwell’s hands. Deep down she knows that this isn’t going to end well, but there’s little else for it. With that done she puts the laptop away and slowly makes the mental transition back into Shannon—she still has the rest of her shift to tend to, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should apologize for playing with y’all emotions like that lmfao. Like the rating went up [due to that little self lovin’ bit at the beginning] and then it starts off with that dream sequence and that was just really mean spirited—so for what it’s worth I truly am sorry. Forgive me?  
> But if you just need some legit reader/Wrench action—and really who _doesn’t?_ —then check out FancyLadySnackCakes’ _LowRes_ series [it’s bookmarked on my page if you’re feeling lazy lol]. She’s like the master of Wrench smut, like bruh… I know most of y’all probably already know what’s up, but just in case you don’t—TREAT YO’SELF! There’s a lot of variety there as well so, ya know, have fun *waggles eyebrows* lmao…

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This all takes place a few months after the events of the game, just to give you all a point of reference.  
> So originally this was supposed to be a one shot that ends with you fooling around with Wrench on the roof, but then I got all wordy and plot-y. Ever so sorry about that. It seems as if I just cannot write smut for the sake of smut. But fret not, I’ve already got the next few chapters done. I don’t have time to proofread them now (it’s the holidays, so family stuff), but the minute I do I’ll post them. Don’t worry, I’ll get you into those ripped jeans soon enough lmao.  
> Side note: Am I the only one that had to pause their entire existence when Marcus got into it with the car? That shit had me rolling. Only thing better than that was the Limp Nudle bit with Horatio. Okay, enough rambling now. Lord knows the next chapter has enough of that on its on lol…  
> All grammar/spelling fuckery is, as always, my own.


End file.
